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RIP   VAN    WINKLE 


Portrait  of  Joseph  Jefferson. 

From  Photograph  by  Pach. 


RIP 
VAN   WINKLE 


AS    PLAYED    BY 

JOSEPH   JEFFERSON 


NOW   FOR     THE    FIRST    TIME 
PUBLISHED. 


©Hitfj  Illustrations 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

895 


COPYRIGHT 

1  896 

BY 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


PUBLISHERS'   NOTE 

THE  text  of  RIP  VAN  WINKLE,  as  played 
by  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON,  is  here  for  the 
first  time  published.  The  aim  has  been  to  sup 
ply  such  illustrations  and  explanations  as  will 
best  recall  the  play  to  those  who  have  seen  it. 

To  this  end,  Mrs.  CORA  HAMILTON  BELL  has, 
with  Mr.  Jefferson's  approval,  amplified  and 
supplemented  the  stage  directions,  and  has  sup 
plied  descriptive  prefaces  to  each  act.  Many 
of  the  illustrations  are  direct  reproductions  from 
photographs  of  Mr.  Jefferson  in  the  character  of 
"  Rip."  Those  in  the  text  are  mostly  from  draw 
ings  by  RICHARD  CREIFELDS,  made  directly 
from  scenes  in  the  play. 

The  portrait  is  from  a  photograph  of  Mr. 
Jefferson  recently  taken,  and  is  the  one  best 
liked  by  him. 

Most  interesting  of  all,  perhaps,  will  be  the 
reproductions  of  paintings  by  Mr.  Jefferson  him 
self  of  scenes  in  the  Catskill  Mountains,  and  the 
illustration  facing  page  120,  wherein  the  figure 
is  by  F.  EUGENE  SMITH,  and  the  background 
by  Mr.  Jefferson. 


269089 


PAGE 

Portrait  of  Joseph  Jefferson  (from  pho 
tograph    by   Pach).      Photogravure 

Fron  tispiecc 

Old  Barn  in  Paradise  Valley.  Photo 
gravure  I2 

Scene  in  Catskill  Mountains  (from  paint 
ing  by  Joseph  Jefferson).  Photo 
gravure  22 

Decoration  to  precede  Act  1 23 

Rip  Van  Winkle 25 

"  I '11  show  you  why  " 31 

"  Are  you  truly  miserable  with  Rip  ?  "  .  34 
"Looks  like  the  father  of  the  village"  41 
"Well,  here's  your  good  health." 

Photogravure 

"  Suppose  you  were  to  hang  this  bagful 

of  money  inside  " 

"Yes,   and    I '11  have    Hendrick,    too'' 

Photogravure 

"  What  are  you  readin'  ?  "        .... 
Scene  in  the  Catskill  Mountains  (from 
painting    by    Joseph     Jefferson). 
Photogravure 

^V*^^-*        i 


4  6 


71 


PAGE 

Decoration  to  precede  Act  II.  ...  77 
"  Shall  I  lay  the  table  for  two,  mother, 

or  for  three?  " 82 

"Oh,  dear!  did  he  say  so?"      ...  86 

"  There  is  some  one  outside  "...  88 
"  How  do  I  know  what  I  got  to  say  to 

'*"'" 93 

"  1  rolled  over  on  the  other  side  "  .  .  106 

"  Uon't  cry,  my  daarlin'  "  ....  108 
"  No ;  you  have  driven  me  "from  your 

house."  Photogravure.  .  .  .  114 
Scene  in  the  Catskill  Mountains  (from 

painting     by    Joseph     Jefferson). 

Photogravure 116 

Decoration  to  precede  Act  III.  .  .  .  117 
"  What 's  the  matter  with  Schneider  ?  " 

Photogravure 120 

"  What  a  funny  thing  is  that  a  comin' 

up  the  hill?"  .  .  „  ....  121 

"  Well,  I  '11  help  you  » 125 

"  Wrhat  for  licker  is  that !  "  .  ITI 


PAGE 
Scene  in  the  Catskill  Mountains  (from 

painting    by    Joseph    Jefferson). 

Photogravure 136 

Decoration  to  precede  Act  IV.  .  .  .  137 

"  Oh,  I  feel  very  bad  1 " 140 

"  My  gun  must  have  cotched  the  rheu- 

matix  too  " 141 

"Why,  is  that  the  Village  of  Falling 

Waters?" 143 

"Oh,  you  shall  pay  for  this!  "  .  .  .  149 
"Why,  what  queer  looking  creature  is 

this?" 154 

"No.  She's  alive" 164 

"  No  one  remembers  Rip  Van  Winkle." 

Photogravure 170 

"If  you  come  home  to-day  with  red 

eyes" 176 

"That's  just  the  way  I  felt  for 

Gretchen " 182 

"  One  moment,  my  dear  "  ....  185 
"Ah,  my  child!  Somebody  knows 

me  now !     Photogravure    .     .     .     iSS 


INTRODUCTION. 


T)IP  VAN  WINKLE  has  been  received  by 
•*»^-  the  American  public  for  so  many  years 
that  I  feel  emboldened  to  bespeak  a  little  of 
your  favour  for  his  new  appearance  in  another 
form.  This  version,  now  printed  for  the  first 
time,  may  be  regarded  perhaps  as  a  souvenir 
of  a  greater  number  of  performances  .than  I 
can  possibly  count,  and  as  such  I  hope  may 
be  acceptable. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  select  from  my  Auto 
biography  (with  the  kind  consent  of  the  Cen 
tury  Company)  such  passages  relating  to  the 
history  of  the  play  and  my  performance  of  the 
part  as,  may  be  of  interest  to  the  readers  of 
this  volume,  and  to  give  the  desultory  gossip 
of  the  Autobiography  a  rather  more  historical 
sequence. 

I  can  lay  no  claim  to  having  invented  Rip. 
The  Greeks  knew  him;  the  Germans  made  a 


io  INTRODUCTION. 

home  for  him  in  their  Hartz  Mountains,  calling 
him  Carl,  the  Shepherd;  and  the  genius  of 
Washington  Irving  transplanted  him  to  our 
own  Kaatskills.  Yates,  Hackett,  and  Burke  had 
each  made  him  the  hero  of  separate  dramas  and 
representations  before  I  tried  my  hand  upon 
the  legend. 

The  idea  of  acting  Rip  Van  Winkle  came  to 
me  in  the  summer  of  '59.  I  had  arranged  to 
board  with  my  family  at  a  queer  old  Dutch 
farm-house  in  Paradise  Valley,  at  the  foot  of 
Pocono  Mountain  in  Pennsylvania.  A  ridge  of 
hills  covered  with  tall  hemlocks  surrounds  the 
vale,  and  numerous  trout-streams  wind  through 
the  meadows  and  tumble  over  the  rocks.  Stray 
farms  are  scattered  through  the  valley,  and  the 
few  old  Dutchmen  and  their  families  who  till 
the  soil  were  born  upon  it;  there  and  only 
there  they  have  ever  lived.  The  valley  har 
monised  with  me  and  our  resources.  The  scene 
was  wild,  the  air  was  fresh,  and  the  board  was 
cheap.  What  could  the  light  heart  and  purse 
of  a  poor  actor  ask  for  more  than  this? 

On  one  of  those  long  rainy  days  that  always 
render  the  country  so  dull,  I  had  climbed  to 
the  loft  of  the  barn,  and,  lying  upon  the  hay, 


INTRODUCTION.  n 

was  reading  that  delightful  book,  "  The  Life 
and  Letters  of  Washington  Irving."  I  had  got 
well  into  the  volume,  and  was  much  interested 
in  it,  when,  to  my  surprise,  I  came  upon  a 
passage  which  said  that  he  had  seen  me  at 
Laura  Keene's  theatre,  as  Goldfinch,  in  Holcroft's 
comedy  of  "  The  Road  to  Ruin,"  and  that  I 
reminded  him  of  my  father  "in  look,  gesture, 
size,  and  make."  Till  then,  I  was  not  aware 
that  he  had  ever  seen  me.  I  was  comparatively 
obscure,  and  to  find  myself  remembered  and 
written  of  by  such  a  man  gave  me  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  I  can  never  forget.  I  put  down  the 
book,  and  lay  there  thinking  how  proud  I  was, 
and  ought  to  be,  at  the  revelation  of  this  com 
pliment.  What  an  incentive  to  a  youngster  like 
me  to  go  on  ! 

And  so  I  thought  to  myself,  "  Washington 
Irving,  the  author  of  '  The  Sketch-Book,'  in 
which  is  the  quaint  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle." 
Rip  Van  Winkle  !  There  was  to  me  magic  in 
the  sound  of  the  name  as  I  repeated  it.  Why, 
was  not  this  the  very  character  I  wanted?  An 
American  story  by  an  American  author  was 
surely  just  the  theme  suited  to  an  American 
actor. 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

In  ten  minutes  I  had  gone  to  the  house  and 
returned  to  the  barn  with  "  The  Sketch-Book. " 
I  had  not  read  the  story  since  I  was  a  boy. 
I  was  disappointed  in  it;  not  as  a  story,  of 
course,  but  the  tale  was  purely  a  narrative. 
The  theme  was  interesting,  but  not  dramatic. 
The  silver  Hudson  stretches  out  before  you  as 
you  read  ;  the  quaint  red  roofs  and  queer  gables 
of  the  old  Dutch  cottages  stand  out  against  the 
the  mist  upon  the  mountains ;  but  all  this  is 
descriptive.  The  character  of  Rip  does  not 
speak  ten  lines.  What  could  be  done  dramati 
cally  with  so  simple  a  sketch?  How  could  it 
be  turned  into  an  effective  play? 

Three  or  four  bad  dramatisations  of  the  story 
had  already  been  acted,  but  without  marked 
success.  Yates,  of  London,  had  given  one  in 
which  the  hero  dies ;  one  had  been  acted  by  my 
father,  one  by  Hackett,  and  another  by  Burke. 
Some  of  these  versions  I  had  remembered  when 
I  was  a  boy,  and  I  should  say  that  Burke's  play 
and  the  performance  were  the  best ;  but  nothing 
that  I  remembered  gave  me  the  slightest  en 
couragement  that  I  could  get  a  good  play  out 
of  any  of  the  existing  materials.  Still,  I  was  so 
bent  upon  acting  the  part  that  I  started  for  the 


Old  Barn  in  Paradise  Valley. 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

city;  and  in  less  than  a  week,  by  industriously 
ransacking  the  theatrical  wardrobe  establish 
ments  for  old  leather  and  mildewed  cloth,  and 
by  personally  superintending  the  making  of  the 
wigs,  each  article  of  my  costume  was  com 
pleted  ;  and  all  this  too  before  I  had  written  a 
line  of  the  play  or  studied  a  word  of  the  part. 

This  is  working  in  an  opposite  direction  from 
all  the  conventional  methods  in  the  study  and 
elaboration  of  a  dramatic  character,  and  cer 
tainly  not  following  the  course  I  would  advise 
any  one  to  pursue.  I  merely  mention  the  out- 
of-the-way,  upside-down  manner  of  going  to 
work  as  an  illustration  of  the  impatience  and 
enthusiasm  with  which  I  entered  upon  the  task. 
I  can  only  account  for  my  getting  the  dress 
ready  before  I  studied  the  part  to  the  vain 
desire  I  had  of  witnessing  myself  in  the  glass, 
decked  out  and  equipped  as  the  hero  of  the 
Kaatskills. 

I  got  together  three  old  printed  versions  of 
the  drama  and  the  story  itself.  The  plays  were 
all  in  two  acts.  I  thought  it  would  be  an  im 
provement  in  the  drama  to  arrange  it  in  three, 
making  the  scene  with  the  spectre  crew  an  act 
by  itself.  This  would  separate  the  poetical  from 


i4  INTRODUCTION. 

the  domestic  side  of  the  story.  But  by  far  the 
most  important  alteration  was  in  the  interview 
with  the  spirits.  In  the  old  versions,  they  spoke 
and  sang.  I  remember  that  the  effect  of  this 
ghostly  dialogue  was  dreadfully  human,  so  I 
arranged  that  no  voice  but  Rip's  should  be 
heard.  This  was  entirely  my  own  invention. 
I  was  quite  sure  that  the  silence  of  the  crew 
would  give  a  lonely  and  desolate  character  to 
the  scene,  and  add  to  its  supernatural  weirdness. 
By  this  means,  too,  a  strong  contrast  with  the 
single  voice  of  Rip  was  obtained  by  the  death 
like  stillness  of  the  "  demons "  as  they  glided 
about  the  stage  in  solemn  silence.  It  required 
some  thought  to  hit  upon  just  the  best  ques 
tions  that  could  be  answered  by  a  nod  and 
shake  of  the  head,  and  to  arrange  that  at  times 
even  Rip  should  propound  a  query  to  himself, 
and  answer  it ;  but  I  availed  myself  of  so  much 
of  the  old  material  that  in  a  few  days  after  I 
had  begun  my  work,  it  was  finished. 

In  the  seclusion  of  the  barn,  I  studied  and 
rehearsed  the  part;  and  by  the  end  of  the 
summer,  I  was  prepared  to  transplant  it  from 
the  rustic  realms  of  an  old  farm-house  to  a 
cosmopolitan  audience,  in  the  city  of  Washing- 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

ton,  where  I  opened  at  Carusi's  Hall,  under  the 
management  of  John  T.  Raymond.  I  had  gone 
over  the  play  so  thoroughly  that  each  situa 
tion  was  fairly  engraved  on  my  mind.  The 
rehearsals  were  therefore  not  tedious  to  the 
actors ;  no  one  was  delayed  that  I  might  con 
sider  how  he  or  she  should  be  disposed  of  in 
the  scene.  I  had  by  repeated  experiments  so 
saturated  myself  with  the  action  of  the  play  that 
a  few  days  served  to  perfect  the  rehearsals.  I 
acted,  on  these  occasions,  with  all  the  point  and 
feeling  that  I  could  muster.  This  answered  the 
double  purpose  of  giving  me  freedom,  and 
observing  the  effect  of  what  I  was  doing  on 
the  actors.  They  seemed  to  be  watching  me 
closely,  and  I  could  tell  by  little  nods  of  approval 
when  the  points  hit. 

To  be  brief,  the  play  was  acted  with  a  result 
that  was,  to  me,  both  satisfactory  and  disap 
pointing.  I  was  quite  sure  that  the  character 
was  what  I  had  been  seeking,  and  I  was  equally 
satisfied  that  the  play  was  not.  The  action  had 
neither  the  body  nor  the  strength  to  carry  the 
hero;  the  spiritual  quality  was  there,  but  the 
human  interest  was  wanting. 

This  defect  was  not  remedied   until  five  years 


1 6  INTRODUCTION. 

later,  when  I  met  Dion  Boucicault,  in  London. 
Then,  he  agreed  to  rewrite  the  drama  for  a 
consideration  agreed  upon  between  us.  He 
never  seemed  to  think  much  of  his  labour  in 
this  play;  but  I  did,  and  do  still,  with  good 
reason. 

His  version  was  still  cast  in  three  acts.  Later, 
I  divided  the  first  act  into  two,  making  the  end 
of  the  dance  the  end  of  an  act,  rather  than  the 
end  of  a  scene,  and  enlarged  and  strengthened 
it  in  various  ways  suggested  by  my  experience. 
It  will  thus  be  seen  that  the  play  is  by  no 
means  the  work  of  one  mind,  but  both  as  to 
its  narrative  and  dramatic  form,  has  been  often 
moulded,  and  by  many  hands. 

In  acting  the  part  of  Rip,  I  have  always 
found  that  what  to  do  was  simple  enough,  but 
what  not  to  do  was  the  important  and  difficult 
point  to  determine.  The  earlier  scenes  of  the 
play  being  of  a  natural  and  domestic  character, 
I  had  only  to  draw  upon  my  experience  for 
their  effect.  But  from  the  moment  Rip  meets 
the  spirits  of  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  crew, 
I  felt  that  the  colloquial  speech  and  lazy  and 
commonplace  actions  of  Rip  should  cease. 
After  he  meets  the  elves,  in  the  third  act,  the 


INTRODUCTION.  17 

play  drifts  from  realism  into  idealism,  and  be 
comes  poetical.  After  this,  it  is  a  fairy  tale, 
and  the  prosaic  elements  of  the  character  should 
be  eliminated. 

Rip's  sympathy  with  nature  is  always  very 
keen,  and  he  talks  to  the  trees  and  his  dog  as 
if  they  were  human.  The  fairy  element  in  the 
play  seems  to  be  attached  to  it  as  the  fairy 
element  in  a  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream." 
And  because  Rip  is  a  fairy,  he  neither  laughs 
nor  eats  in  the  fourth  act.  For  this  reason, 
also,  when  they  wanted  me  to  reform  at  the  end 
of  the  play,  I  said,  "No.  Should  Rip  refuse 
the  cup,  the  drama  would  become  a  temperance 
play;  and  I  should  as  soon  expect  to  hear  of 
Cinderella  striking  for  higher  wages,  or  of  a 
speech  on  Woman's  Rights  from  Old  Mother 
Hubbard,  as  to  listen  to  a  temperance  lecture 
from  Rip  Van  Winkle.  It  would  take  all  the 
poetry  completely  out  of  it."  So  one  might 
suppose  that  when  Rip  wakes  up,  he  would 
yawn ;  but  a  yawn,  being  expressive  of  a  night's 
sleep,  would  destroy  the  harmony  of  the  twenty 
years'  sleep.  If  the  sleep' of  twenty  years  were 
merely  incongruous,  there  would  be  room  for 
argument  pro  and  con;  but  being  an  impossi- 


1 8  INTRODUCTION. 

bility,  the  mind  accepts  it,  not  because  it  is  an 
impossibility,  but  from  curiosity  to  know  the 
psychological  result  if  such  an  event  could 
happen.  And  it  is  this  strange  and  original 
attitude  of  the  characters  that  has  kept  my 
interest  in  it  alive  for  so  many  years. 

I  have  never  "  staged "  Rip  with  the  realism 
in  fashion  of  late  years,  though  I  have  had 
various  suggestions  made  to  me  for  elaborating 
the  spectacular  and  scenic  effects  of  the  play, 
among  which  were  the  introduction  of  several 
fat  old  Knickerbockers  smoking  their  long 
pipes  and  quarrelling  in  Dutch ;  a  large  wind 
mill,  with  sails  to  work;  dairy-maids,  with  real 
cows;  mechanical  effects  for  the  sudden  and 
mysterious  appearance  and  disappearance  of 
Hendrick  Hudson's  crew ;  and,  in  the  last  act, 
the  Continental  army  with  drums  and  fifes;  a 
militia  training;  and  the  further  introduction  of 
patriotic  speeches  about  American  independence. 

So  unreal  a  theme  could  not  have  been  inter 
woven  with  all  this  realism  without  marring 
the  play. 

For  this  reason,  when  a  lady  once  asked  me, 
"Why  don't  you  have  a  clog  in  the  play?" 
I  replied  that  I  disliked  realism  in  art;  and 


INTRODUCTION.  19 

realism  alive,  with  a  tail  to  wag  at  the  wrong 
time,  would  be  abominable. 

"But  don't  you  think  that  the  public  would 
like  to  see  Schneider?" 

"The  public  could  not  pay  him  a  higher 
compliment,  for  it  shows  how  great  an  interest 
they  take  in  an  animal  that  has  never  been 
exhibited.  No,  no ;  '  hold  the  mirror  up  to 
nature,'  if  you  like,  but  don't  hold  nature  up,  — 
a  reflection  of  the  thing,  but  not  the  thing 
itself.  How  badly  would  a  drunken  man  give 
an  exhibition  of  intoxication  on  the  stage  ? 
Who  shall  act  as  a  madman  but  one  who  is 
perfectly  sane?  We  must  not  be  natural,  but 
appear  to  be  so." 

So,  too,  I  have  never  felt  that  the  dialect  was 
an  important  element  in  the  presentation  of  the 
character.  I  do  not  make  it  so  prominent  or 
so  consistent  as  they  would  do  in  a  variety  show. 
If  I  were  to  do  that,  I  would  destroy  the  larger 
element.  I  am  a  Pennsylvania!!  myself,  and  I 
lived  very  much  among  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch 
in  the  mountains,  when  I  was  studying  the  part, 
and  I  got  the  flavour  of  it;  but  I  regard  it  only 
as  an  accompaniment. 

I  would  like  to  repeat  here  a  curious  incident 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

connected  with  "  Rip  Van  Winkle,"  and  I  have 
done. 

There  is  in  the  village  of  Catskill  a  Rip  Van 
Winkle  Club.  This  society  did  me  the  honour  to 
invite  me  to  act  the  character  in  their  town.  I 
accepted,  and  when  I  arrived  was  met  by  the 
worthy  president  and  other  members  of  the  club, 
among  whom  was  young  Nicholas  Vedder,  who 
claimed  to  be  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  original 
"Old  Nick."  Emulating  the  spirit  of  evolution, 
the  citizens  had  turned  the  skating-rink  into  a 
theatre,  and  a  very  respectable-looking  establish 
ment  it  made,  though  in  its  transition  state  the 
mark  of  rollers  did  "  cling  to  it  still."  I  was 
taking  a  cup  of  tea  at  the  table  in  the  hotel, 
when  I  was  attracted  to  the  coloured  waiter,  who 
was  giving  a  graphic  and  detailed  account  of 
this  legend  of  the  Kaatskill  Mountains  to  one 
of  the  boarders  who  sat  nearly  opposite  to  me. 

"Yes,  sah,"  he  continued;  "  Rip  went  up  into 
de  mountain,  slep'  for  twenty  years,  and  when  he 
came  back  hyar,  in  dis  berry  town,  his  own  folks 
didn'y  know  him." 

"  Why,"  said  his  listener,  "  you  don't  believe 
the  story  's  true?  " 

"True?  Ob  course  it  is;  why,"  pointing  at 
me,  "  dat's  de  man." 


INTRODUCTION.  2i 

The  town  was  filled  with  farmers  and  their 
wives,  who  had  come  from  far  and  near  to  see 
the  opening  of  the  new  theatre,  and  also,  I  think 
I  may  say,  to  see  for  the  first  time  on  the  stage 
the  story  which  Washington  Irving  had  laid 
almost  at  their  very  doors. 

As  I  drove  to  the  theatre,  the  rain  came  down 
in  torrents,  the  thunder  rolled,  and  the  lightning 
played  around  the  peaks  of  the  distant  moun 
tains  under  the  very  shadow  of  which  I  was  to 
act  the  play.  It  gave  me  a  very  strange  sensa 
tion.  When  I  got  to  the  theatre,  I  could  scarcely 
get  in,  the  crowd  was  so  great  about  the  door,  — 
countrymen  trying  to  get  into  the  ticket-office 
instead  of  the  proper  entrance,  and  anxious  and 
incredulous  old  ladies  endeavouring  to  squeeze 
past  the  doorkeeper,  but  refusing  to  give  up  their 
tickets.  The  rush  over,  the  play  began.  The 
audience  was  intent  on  the  scene  as  it  progressed, 
and  seemed  anxious  not  to  lose  a  word.  During 
the  scene  in  the  last  act  where  Rip  inquires  of 
the  innkeeper,  "  Is  this  the  village  of  Falling 
Waters?  "  I  altered  the  text,  and  substituted  the 
correct  name,  "Is  this  the  village  of  Catskill?" 
The  crowded  house  almost  held  its  breath.  The 
name  of  the  village  seemed  to  bring  the  scene 


22  INTRODUCTION. 

home  to  every  man,  woman,  and  child  that  was 
looking  at  it.  From  this  time  on  the  interest  was 
at  its  full  tension.  Surely,  I  had  never  seen  an 
audience  so  struck  with  the  play  before. 

There  was  a  reception  held  at  the  club  after 
the  play,  and  the  worthy  president,  in  introduc 
ing  me  to  the  company,  was  so  nervous  that  he 
announced  me  as  "Mr.  Washington  Irving." 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON. 

NEW  YORK, 

October,  1895. 


Scene  in  Catskill  Mountains. 
From  Painting-  by  Joseph  Jetfers.m. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


ACT  I. 
SCENE  i. 

The  village  of  Falling  Waters,  set  amid 
familiar  and  unmistakable  Hudson  River 
scenery,  with  the  shining  river  itself  and 
the  noble  heights  of  the  Kaatskills  visible 
in  the  distance.  In  the  foreground,  to  the 
left  of  the  stage,  is  a  country  inn  bearing 
the  sign  of  George  III.  In  the  wall  of  the 
inn,  a  window  closed  by  a  solid  wooden 
shutter.  To  the  right  of  the  stage,  an  old 
cottage  with  a  door  opening  into  the  inte 
rior;  before  the  cottage  stands  a  bench 
holding  a  wash-tub,  with  washboard,  soap, 
and  clothes  in  the  tub.  In  the  centre  of 
the  stage,  a  table  and  chairs,  and  on  the 
table  a  stone  pitcher  and  two  tin  cups. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  Gretchen  is  discovered 
washing,  and  little  Meenie  sitting  near  by 
on  a  low  stool.  The  sound  of  a  chorus 
and  laughter  comes  from  the  inn. 

GRETCHEN. 

Shouting  and  drinking  day  and  night. 

Laughter  is  heard  from  the  inn. 


28  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

Hark  how  they  crow  over  their  cups  while 
their  wives  are  working  at  home,  and  their  chil 
dren  are  starving. 

Enter  Derrick  from  the  inn  with  a  green  bag, 

followed  by  Nick  Vedder.     Derrick  places 

his  green  bag  on  the  table. 

DERRICK. 

Not  a  day,  not  an  hour.  If  the  last  two 
quarters'  rent  be  not  paid  by  this  time  to-mor 
row,  out  you  go  ! 

NlCK. 

Oh,  come,  Derrick,  you  won't  do  it.  Let 
us  have  a  glass,  and  talk  the  matter  over ; 
good  liquor  opens  the  heart.  Here,  Hendrick ! 

Hendrick!  Enter  Hendrick. 

HENDRICK. 
Yes,  father. 

DERRICK. 
So  that  is  your  brat? 

NICK. 
Yes,  that  is  my  boy. 

DERRICK. 

Then  the  best  I  can  wish  him  is  that  he  won't 
take  after  his  father,  and  become  a  vagabond  and 
a  penniless  outcast. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  29 

NICK. 
Those  are  hard  words  to  hear  in  the  presence 

of  my  child. 

HENDRICK. 

Then  why  don't  you  knock  him  down,  father? 

GRETCHEN. 
I  '11  tell  you  why  — 

DERRICK. 

Gretchen ! 

GRETCHEN. 

Wiping  her  arms  and  coming  to  front  of  tub. 
It    is    because    your    father    is    in    that    man's 
power.     And  what's   the  use  of   getting  a   man 
down,  if  you  don't  trample  on  him? 

NICK. 
Oh,  that  is  the  way  of  the  world. 

GRETCHEN. 

To  Hendnck. 

Go  in,  boy.  I  want  to  speak  to  your  father, 
and  my  words  may  not  be  fit  for  you  to  hear. 
Yonder  is  my  little  girl ;  go  and  play  with  her. 

Hendrick  and  Meenie  exeunt  into  the  cottage. 

GRETCHEN. 

Now,  Derrick,  Vedder  is  right:  you  won't  turn 
him  out  of  his  house  yonder. 


3o  RIP    VAN    WINKLE. 

DERRICK. 
And   why  not?      Don't   he   owe   me    a  year's 

rent? 

GRETCHEN. 

And  what  do  you  owe  him?  Shall  I  sum  up 
your  accounts  for  you?  Ten  years  ago,  this 
was  a  quiet  village,  and  belonged  mostly  to  my 
husband,  Rip  Van  Winkle,  a  foolish,  idle  fellow. 
That  house  yonder  has  since  been  his  ruin. 
Yes ;  bit  by  bit,  he  has  parted  with  all  he  had, 
to  fill  the  mouths  of  sots  and  boon  companions, 
gathered  around  him  in  yonder  house.  And 
you,  Derrick,  —  you  supplied  him  with  the  money 
to  waste  in  riot  and  drink.  Acre  by  acre,  you've 
sucked  in  his  land  to  swell  your  store.'  Yonder 
miserable  cabin  is  the  only  shelter  we  have  left ; 
but  that  is  mine.  Had  it  been  his,  he  would 
have  sold  it  to  you,  Derrick,  long  ago,  and 
wasted  its  price  in  riot. 

Vedder,  who  has  been  enjoying  Derrick's 
discomfiture  during  this  speech,  is  unable 
to  control  himself,  and  at  the  end  of  speech 
bursts  into  a  loud  laugh. 

GRETCHEN. 

Aye,  and  you  too,  Nick  Vedder;  you  have 
ruined  mv  husband  between  you. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


NICK. 

Oh,  come,  Mrs;  Van  Winkle,  you  're  too  hard. 
I  could  n't  refuse  Rip's  money  in  the  way  of 
business ;  I  had  my  rent  to  pay. 

G  RETCH  EN. 

And  shall  I  tell  you  why  you  can't  pay  it?  it 
is  because  you  have  given  Rip  credit,  and  he 

has  ended  by  drinking 
^V'**      vJ~X~     you   out  of  house  and 
home.       Your   win 
dow-shutter    is    not 
wide  enough  to  hold 
the    score    against 
him;    it  is  full  of 
chalk.     Deny  it  if 
you  can. 

NICK. 

I  do  deny  it. 
There  now ! 

GRETCHEN. 
Then  why  do  you  keep  that  shutter  closed? 

I  '11  show  you  why. 

Goes   to   inn,  opens   shutter,  holds  it  open, 

pointing  at  Rip's  score. 
That's  why. 


32  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

Nick  Vedder,  you  're  a  good  man  in  the  main, 

if  there  is  such  a  thing. 

Derrick  laughs. 
Aye,  and  I  doubt  it 

Turning  on  him. 

But  you  are  the  pest  of  this  village;  and  the 
hand  of  every  woman  in  it  ought  to  help  to 
pull  down  that  drunkard's  nest  of  yours,  stone 
by  stone. 

NICK. 

Come,  Dame  Van  Winkle,  you  're  too  hard 
entire ;  now  a  man  must  have  his  odd  time,  and 
he  's  none  the  worse  for  being  a  jolly  dog. 

GRETCHEN. 

No,  none  the  worse.  He  sings  a  good  song;  he 
tells  a  good  story,  —  oh,  he's  a  glorious  fellow! 
Did  you  ever  see  the  wife  of  a  jolly  dog?  Well, 
she  lives  in  a  kennel.  Did  you  ever  see  the 
children  of  a  jolly  dog?  They  are  the  street 
curs,  and  their  home  is  the  gutter. 

Goes  up  to  wash-tub,  and  takes  revenge  on 
the  clothing  she  scrubs. 

NICK. 

Getting  up  and  approaching  Gretchen  timidly. 

I  tell   you   what    it    is,  Dame  Van  Winkle,  I 

don't  know  what  your  home  may  be,  but  judg- 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  3~ 

ing  from  the  rows  I  hear  over  there,  and  the 
damaged  appearance  of  Rip's  face  after  having 
escaped  your  clutches  — 

Gretchen  looks  up  angrily  ;    Nick  retreats  a 
few  paces  hastily  — 

I  should  say  that  a  gutter  was  a  luxurious  abode 
compared  with  it,  and  a  kennel  a  peaceful 

retreat. 

Exit  hurriedly,  laughing,  into  the  inn.  Gretchen 
looks  up  angrily,  and  throws  the  cloth  she 
has  been  wringing  after  him,  then  re 
sumes  washing.  Derrick  laughs  at  Ved- 
der's  exit,  walks  up  to  Gretchen,  and  puts 
one  foot  on  bench. 

DERRICK. 
Is  it  true,  Gretchen?     Are  you  truly  miserable 

with  Rip? 

GRETCHEN. 

Ain't  you  pleased  to  hear  it?  Come  then  and 
warm  your  heart  at  my  sorrow.  Ten  years  ago 
I  might  have  had  you,  Derrick.  But  I  despised 
you  for  your  miserly  ways,  and  threw  myself 
away  on  a  vagabond. 

DERRICK. 

You  and  I  shared  him  between  us.  I  took  his 
estate,  and  you  took  his  person.  Now,  I  Ve 
improved  my  half.  What  have  you  done  with 
yours? 


34 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


GRETCHEN. 

I  can't  say  that  I  Vc  prospered  with  it.  I  Ve 
tried  every  means  to  reclaim  him,  but  he  is  as 
obstinate  and  perverse  as  a  Dutch  pig.  But  the 
worst  in  him  —  and  what  I  can't  stand — is  his 
good-humour.  It  drives  me 
frantic  when,  night  after  night, 
lie  comes  home  drunk  and 
helplessly  good  -  humoured  ! 
Oh,  I  can't  stand  that! 

DERRICK. 
Where  is  he  now? 

GRETCHEN. 
We  had  a  tiff  yes 
terday,  and  he  started. 
He  has  been   out   all 
night.     Only  wait  un 
til  he   comes   back!     The   longer  he  stops  out, 
the   worse  it  will   be   for  him. 

DERRICK. 

Gretchen,  you  Ve  made   a  great  mistake,  but 
there    is    time    enough    to    repair    it.      You    are 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


35 


comely  still,  thrifty,  and  that  hard  sort  of  grain 
that  I  most  admire  in  woman. 

Looks  cautiously  around.  Leans  on  tub 
Why  not  start  Rip  for  ever,  and  share  my  for 
tune? 

GRETCHEN. 

Oh,  no,  Derrick ;  you  Ve  got  my  husband  in 
your  clutches,  but  you  can't  get  them  around  me. 
If  Rip  would  only  mend  his  ways,  he  would  see 
how  much  I  love  him;  but  no  woman  could  love 
you,  Derrick;  for  woman  is  not  a  domestic  ani 
mal,  glad  to  serve  and  fawn  upon  a  man  for  the 
food  and  shelter  she  can  get ;  and  that  is  all  she 
would  ever  get  from  you,  Derrick. 

Piling    the    clothes  on    the   washboard,    and 
shouldering  it. 

DERRICK. 
The  time  may  come  when  you  '11  change  your 

tune. 

GRETCHEN. 

Not  while  Rip  lives,  bad  as  he  is. 

Exit  into  cottage. 

DERRICK. 

Then  I  '11  wait  until  you  Ve  killed  him.  Her 
spirit  is  not  broken  yet.  But  patience,  Derrick, 


36  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

patience ;  in  another  month  I  '11  have  my  claws 
on  all  that  remains  of  Rip's  property,  —  yonder 
cottage  and  grounds ;  then  I  '11  try  you  again, 

my  lady. 

Enter  Cockles,  with  papers  in  his  hand,  run 
ning  towards  the  inn. 

DERRICK. 

How  now,  you  imp?  What  brings  you  here  so 
full  of  a  hurry?  Some  mischief's  in  your  head, 
or  your  heels  would  not  be  so  busy. 

COCKLES. 

I  Ve  brought  a  letter  for  you  from  my  employer. 
There  it  is. 

DERRICK. 

Examining  letter. 
Why,  the  seal  is  broken  ! 

COCKLES. 
Yes  ;  I  read  it  as  I  came  along. 

DERRICK. 

Now  I  apprenticed  this  vagabond  to  my  law 
yer,  and  this  is  his  gratitude. 

COCKLES. 

Don't  waste  your  breath,  Nunky,  for  you  '11 
want  it;  for  when  you  read  that,  if  it  don't  take 
you  short  in  the  wind  I  '11  admire  you. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  37 

DERRICK. 

Reads. 

"  You  must  obtain  from  Rip  Van  Winkle  a 
proper  conveyance  of  the  lands  he  has  sold  to 
you.  The  papers  he  has  signed  are  in  fact  noth 
ing  but  mortgages  on  his  estate.  If  you  fore 
close,  you  must  sell  the  property,  which  has 
lately  much  advanced  in  value ;  and  it  would  sell 
for  enough  to  pay  off  your  loan,  and  all  your 
improvements  would  enure  to  the  benefit  of  Rip 
Van  Winkle." 

COCKLES. 

There,  now,  see  what  you  Ve  been  doing  of!  — 
wasting  your  money  and  my  expectations  on 
another  chap's  property.  Do  you  want  to  leave 
me  a  beggar? 

DERRICK. 

Reads. 

"  I  enclose  a  deed  for  him  to  sign  that  will 
make  him  safe." 

COCKLES. 

Of  course  he'll  sign  it;  he  won't  wait  to  be 
asked —  he'll  be  in  such  a  hurry. 

DERRICK. 

All  my  savings  —  all  my  money  —  sunk  in 
improving  this  village ! 


38  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

COCKLES. 

Yes,  instead  of  physicking  Rip,  as  you  thought, 
you  Ve  been  coddling  him  all  the  while. 

DERRICK. 

All    these    houses    I  Ve  built   are    on   another 
man's  land.     What  shall  I  do? 

COCKLES. 
Pull  them  down  again ;   pull  them  down. 

DERRICK. 
Ass  !  —  dolt  that  I  have  been  ! 

COCKLES. 
Calling  yourself  names  won't  mend  it,  Nunky. 

DERRICK. 

The  imp  is  right.     Rip  must  be  made  to  sign 
this  paper.     But  how  —  how? 

COCKLES. 

How?     How?     How's  a  big  word  sometimes, 
ain't  it,  Nunky? 

DERRICK. 

Rip  would  not  do  it   if  he  knew  what  he  was 
about.     But    he  can't   read  —  nor  write,   for   the 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  39 

matter  of  that.     But  he  can  make  his  cross,  and 
I  can  cajole  him. 

COCKLES. 

Look  sharp,  Nunky.  The  man  that's  looking 
round  for  a  fool,  and  picks  up  Rip  Van  Winkle, 
will  let  him  drop  again  very  quick. 

DERRICK. 

He  is  poor :  I  '11  show  him  a  handful  of  money. 
He  's  a  drunkard :  I  '11  give  him  a  stomachful  of 
liquor.  Go  in,  boy,  and  leave  me  to  work  this ; 
and  let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you  hereafter :  beware 
of  the  fatal  effects  of  poverty  and  drink. 

COCKLES. 
Yes,  —  and    parting   with    my   money  on   bad 

security. 

Exit.     Laughter  outside. 

DERRICK. 

Here  lie  comes  now,  surrounded  by  all  the 
dogs  and  children  in  the  district.  They  cling 
around  him  like  flies  around  a  lump  of  sugar. 

Rip  enters,  running  and  skipping,  carrying 
one  small  child  pickaback,  and  surrounded 
by  a  swarm  of  others  hanging  on  the  skirts 
of  his  coat,  fie  is  laughing  like  a  child 
himself,  and  his  merry  blue  eyes  twinkle 


40  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

with  delight.  He  is  dressed  in  an  old  deer 
skin  coat,  a  pair  oi  breeches  which  had 
once  been  red,  now  tattered,  patched,  and 
frayed,  leather  gaiters  and  shoes  equally 
dilapidated,  a  shapeless  felt  hat  with  a  bit 
of  the  brim  hanging  loose,  —  the  whole 
stained  and  weatherworn  to  an  almost  uni 
form  clay-colour,  except  for  the  bright  blue 
of  his  jean  shirt  and  the  scarlet  of  his  long 
wisp  of  a  necktie.  One  of  the  boys  carries 
his  gun. 

RIP. 

Taking  his  gun  from  the  boy. 
There,  run  along  mit  you  ;    run  along. 

DERRICK. 

The  children  scamper  off. 

The  vagabond  looks  like  the  father  of  the 
village. 

RIP. 

Who  has  stood   laughing,  and  watching  the 
children,  suddenly  calls  after  them. 

Hey  !  You  let  my  dog  Schneider  alone  there  ; 
you  hear  that  Sock  der  Jacob  der  bist  eine  for 
donner  spits  poo  — yah  — 

DERRICK. 
Why,  what's  the  matter,  Rip? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  41 

RIP. 

Coming  down,  and  shaking  hands  with  Derrick. 
Oh,  how  you  was,  Derrick?  how  you  was? 


DERRICK, 

You  seem  in  trouble. 


42  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Oh,  yah ;  you  know  them  fellers.     Veil,  I  tole 
you  such  a  funny  thing. 

Laughing. 

Just  now,  as  me  and  Schneider  was  comin'  along 
through  the  willage,  —  Schneider 's  my  dawg ;  I 
don't  know  whether  you  know  him? 

Rip  always  speaks  of  Schneider  at  if  he  were 
a  person,  and  one  in  whom  his  hearer  took 
as  profound  an  interest  as  he  does  himself. 

Well,  them  fellers  went  an'  tied  a  tin  kettle  mit 
Schneider's  tail,  and  how  he  did  run  then,  mit  the 
kettle  hanging  about.  Well,  I  did  n't  hi  him 
comin'.  He  run  betwixt  me  an'  my  legs,  an* 
spilt  me  an'  all  them  children  in  the  mud ;  — 
yah,  that 's  a  fact. 

Rip  leans  his  gun  against  the  cottage 

DERRICK. 

Aside. 
Now  's  my  time. 

Aloud. 
Vedder !     Vedder ! 

Vedder  appears  at  the  door  of  the  inn. 

Bring  us  a  bottle  of  liquor.  Bring  us  your  best, 
and  be  quick. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  43 

NICK. 

What's  in  the  wind  now?     The  devil 's  to  pay 
when  Derrick  stands  treat ! 

Exit.  Re-enters,  with  bottle  and  cups  in  left 
hand.  Hands  bottle  to  Derrick. 

Rip  lounges  forward,  and  perches  on  the  cor 
ner  of  the  table. 

DERRICK. 

Rising  and  approaching  Rip. 
Come,  Rip,  what  do  you  say  to  a  glass? 

RIP. 

Takes  a  cup,  and  holds  it  to  be  filled. 
Oh,   yah;    now  what  do  I   generally  say  to  a 
glass?      I    say  it's  a  fine  thing  —  when   there's 
plenty  in  it.     (Ve  gates  !     Ve  gates  !) 

Shakes  hands  with  Nick. 

An'  then  I  says  more  to  what 's  in  it  than  I  do  to 
the  glass.  Now  you  would  n't  believe  it,  —  that 's 
the  first  one  I  Ve  had  to-day. 

DERRICK. 
How  so? 

RIP. 

Dryly. 

Because  I  could  n't  get  it  before,  I  suppose. 

DERRICK. 
Then  let  me  fill  him  up  for  you. 


44  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 

No,  that  is  enough  for  the  first  one. 

NICK. 
Come,  Rip,  a  bumper  for  the  first  one. 

RIP. 

That  is  enough  for  the  first  one. 

DERRICK. 
Come,  Rip,  let  me  fill  him  up  for  you. 

RIP. 

With  ludicrous  decision  and  dignity. 
I  believe  I  know  how  much  to  drink.     When  I 
says  a  thing,  I  mean  it. 

DERRICK. 
Oh,  wcll- 

Turns  aside,  and  starts  to  fill  bis  own  cup. 

RIP. 
All  right;   come  along. 

Holding  out  his  glass,  and  laughing  at  his 
own  inconsistency. 

Here  's  your  good   health  and  your  families',  and 
may  they  live  long  and  prosper! 

They  all  drink.  At  the  end,  Nick  smacks  his 
lips  and  exclaims  "  Ah  !  "  Derrick  repeats 
same,  and  Rip  repeats  after  Derrick. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  45 

RIP. 

To  Nick,  sadly. 

Ah,  you  may  well  go  "  Ah  !  "  and  smack  your 
chops  over  that.  You  don't  give  me  such 
schnapps  when  I  come.  Derrick,  my  score  is 
too  big  now. 

Jerking   his   head    towards    the    shutter,    he 
notices  for  the  first  time  that  it  is  open. 

What    you    go    arid    open    that   window   for?- 
That  's    fine    schnapps,    Nick.      Where   you    got 

that? 

NICK. 

That's  high  Dutch,  Rip,— high  Dutch,  and 
ten  years  in  bottle.  Why,  I  had  that  in  the  very 
day  of  your  wedding.  We  broached  the  keg 
under  yonder  shed.  Don't  you  recollect? 

RlP. 
Is  that  the  same? 

NICK. 
Yes. 

RIP. 
I   thought  I  knowed   that  licker.     You  had  it 

ten  years   ago  ? 

Laughing  suddenly 

I  would    not  have  kept   it    so    long.     But    stop, 
mein   freund ;    that's  more   than  ten   years  ago. 


46  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

NICK. 
No,  it  ain't. 

RIP. 
It 's  the  same  day  I  got  married? 

NICK. 
Yes. 

RIP. 

Well,  I  know  by  that.  You  think  I  forgot  the 
•day  I  got  married?  Oh,  no,  my  friend;  I  re 
member  that  day  long  as  I  live. 

Serious  for  a  moment.      Takes  off    his  hat, 
and  puts  it  on  the  table. 

DERRICK. 

Ah !  Rip,  I  remember  Grctchen  then,  ten 
years  ago. —  Zounds,  how  I  envied  you  ! 

RIP. 

Looking  up,  surprised. 
Did  you? 

Winks  at  Nick.     Then,  suddenly  remembering. 

So  did   I.     You  did  n't  know  what  was  comin', 
Derrick. 

DERRICK. 

She  was  a  beauty. 


"  Well,  here's  your  good  health. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  47 

RIP. 

What,  Gretchen?  —  Yes,  she  was.  She  was  a 
pretty  girl.  My!  My!  Yah,  we  was  a  fine 
couple  altogether.  Well,  come  along. 

Holding  out  his  cup  to  Derrick,  who  fills  it 
from  the  bottle. 

NICK. 
Yes,  come  along. 

Takes  water  pitcher  from  table,  and  starts  to 
fill  up  Rip's  cup.     Rip  stops  him. 

RIP. 

Who  has  been  lounging  against  the  table,  sits 
on  it,  and  puts  his  feet  on  the  chair. 

Stop  !    I  come  along  mitout  that,  Nick  Vedder. 

Sententiously, 
Good  licker  and  water  is  like  man  and  wife. 

DERRICK  AND  NICK. 
How's  that,  Rip? 

RIP. 

Laughing. 

They  don't  agree  together.  I  always  like  my 
licker  single.  Well,  here  's  your  good  health, 
and  your  families',  and  may  they  live  long  and 

prosper! 

They  all  drink. 


48  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

NICK. 
That's    right,    Rip;     drink    away,    and    drown 

your  sorrow. 

RIP. 

Drolly. 

Yes;  but  she  won't  drown.  My  wife  is  my 
sorrow,  and  you  cannick  drown  her.  She  tried 
it  once,  but  could  n't  do  it. 

DERRICK  AND  NICK. 

Why,  how  so? 

RIP. 

Puts  down  his  cup  and  clasps  his  knee,  still 
perched  on  the  corner  of  the  table. 

Did  n't  you   know  that   Gretchen  like  to   got 

drown? 

DERRICK  AND  NICK. 
No. 

RIP. 

Puts  hat  on. 

That's  the  funniest  thing  of  the  whole  of  it. 
It's  the  same  day  I  got  married;  she  was 
comin'  across  the  river  there  in  the  ferry-boat 
to  get  married  mit  me  — 

DERRICK  AND  NICK. 
Yes. 

RIP. 
Well,  the  boat  she  was  comin'  in  got  upsetted. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  49 

DERRICK  AND  NICK. 
Ah! 

RIP.. 

Well,  but  she  was  n't  in  it. 

DERRICK  AND  NICK. 
Oh! 

RIP. 

Explaining  quite  seriously. 

No,  that's  what  I  say:   if  she  had  been  in  the 
boat  what  got  upsetted,  maybe  she  might  have 

got  drowned. 

More  and  more  reflective. 

I  don't  know  how  it  was   she  got  left  some-  • 
how  or   other.     Women  is   always   behind   that 
way  —  always. 

DERRICK. 

But  surely,  Rip,  you  would  have  risked  your 
life  to  save  such  a  glorious  creature  as  she  was. 

RIP. 

Incredulously. 

You  mean  I  would  yump  in  and  pull  Gretchen 
out? 

DERRICK. 
Yes. 


5o  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Oh,  would  I  ? 

Suddenly  remembering. 

Oh,  you  mean  then  —  yes,  I  believe  I  would 

then. 

With  simple  conviction. 

But  it  would   be   more   my  duty  now  than   it 

was  then. 

DERRICK. 
How  so? 

RIP. 

Quite  seriously. 

Why,  you  see  when  a  feller  gets  married  a 
good  many  years  mit  his  wife,  he  gets  very 
much  attached  to  her 

NICK, 

Pompously. 
Ah,  he  does  indeed. 

RIP. 

Winks  at  Derrick,  and  points  at  Nick  with 
his  thumb. 

But  if  Mrs.  Van  Winkle  was  a-drowning  in 
the  water  now,  an'  she  says  to  me,  "  Rip,  come 
an'  save  your  wife  !  "  I  would  say,  "  Mrs.  Van 
Winkle,  I  will  yust  go  home  and  think  about 
it."  Oh,  no,  Derrick,  if  ever  Gretchen  tumbles 
in  the  water,  she  's  got  to  swim  now,  you  mind 
that. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  51 

DERRICK. 
She  was   here  just   now,  anxiously  expecting 

you  home. 

RIP. 

I  know  she 's  keeping  it  hot  for  me. 

NICK. 
What,  your  dinner,  Rip? 

RIP. 
No,  the  broomstick. 

Exit  Nick  into  house,  laughing. 

RIP. 

Confidentially. 

Derrick,  whenever  I  come  back  from  the 
mountains,  I  always  stick  the  game-bag  in  the 
window  and  creep  in  behind. 

DERRICK. 

Seating  himself  on  the  table  by  the  side  of 

Rip. 
Have  you  anything  now? 

RIP. 

Dropping    into   the   chair    Derrick   has    just 
left.      Leaning    back,    and    putting    hands 
behind  his  head. 
What   for    game?     No,  not   a  tail,   I   believe, 

not  a  feather. 

With  humorous  indifference. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


DERRICK. 

Touching  Rip  on  the  shoulder  and  shaking 
a  bag  of  money. 

Rip,  suppose  you  were  to  hang  this  bagful  of 
money  inside,  don't  you  think  it  would  soothe 
her  down,  eh? 

RIP. 

Sitting  up. 
For  me,  is  that? 

DERRICK. 
Yes. 

RIP. 

With  a  shrewd 
glance. 

Ain't  you  yokin' 
mit  me? 

DERRICK. 

No,  Rip,  I  Ve  prospered  with  the  lands  you  've 
sold  me,  and  I  '11  let  you  have  a  loan  on  easy 
terms.  I  '11  take  no  interest. 

RIP. 

Getting  up  and  walking  forward,  with  decision. 
No,  I  'm  afraid  I  might  pay  you  again  some 
day,  Derrick. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  53 

DERRICK. 
And    so   you    shall,   Rip,  pay    me   when   you 

please. 

Puts  the  bag  in  Rip's  hands,  and  forces  his 
fingers  over  it,  turns,  and  goes  to  table, 
speaking  as  he  goes. 

Say,  in  twenty  years,  —  twenty  years  from  this 
day.     Ah,  where  shall  we  be  then? 

RIP. 

Quizzically,  and  half  to  himself. 

I  don't  know  about  myself;   but  I  think  I  can 
guess  where  you  '11  be  about  that  time. 

Takes  chair  and  sits  down. 

DERRICK. 

Well,    Rip,    I  '11    just   step    into   the    inn    and 
draw  out  a  little  acknowledgment. 

RIP. 

Who  has  been  sitting,  leaning  forward  with 
Inrs  elbows  on  his  knees,  softly  chinking 
the  bag  of  money  in  his  hand,  looks  up 
suddenly. 

Knowledgment  —  for  what  is  that? 

DERRICK. 
Yes,  for  you  to  put  your  cross  to. 


54  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Indifferently. 
All  right;    bring  it  along. 

DERRICK. 
No  fear  of  Gretchen  now,  eh,  Rip? 

RIP. 

Plunged  in  thought. 
Oh,  no. 

DERRICK. 

You    feel    quite   comfortable    now,  don't   you, 
Rip? 

Exit  into  inn. 

RIP. 

Oh,  yah  ! 

Suddenly  becoming  serious  and  much  mysti 
fied  at  Derrick's  conduct. 

Well,     I     don't    know    about    that,     Derrick ! 

Derrick ! 

Holding  up  the  bag  and  chinking  it. 

It  don't   chink   like   good    money   neither.     It 

rattles  like  a  snake  in  a  hole. 

Grimly. 

G  RETCH  EX. 

Inside  the  cottage. 

Out  with  that  lazy,  idle  cur !     I  won't  have  him 
here.     Out,  I  sav  ! 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  55 

RIP. 

I  'm   glad    I  'm   not   in  there  now.     I    believe 
that's   Schneider   what   she's   lickin' ;    he  won't 

have  any  backbone  left  in  him. 

Sadly. 

I  would  rather  she  would  lick  me  than  the 
dog;  I'm  more  used  to  it  than  he  is. 

Gets  up,  and  looks  in  at  the  window. 
There  she  is  at  the  wash-tub. 

Admiring  her  energy,  almost  envying  it. 
What  a  hard-workin'   woman  that  is!     Well, 
somebody  must  do  it,  I  suppose. 

With  the  air  of  a  profound  moral  reflection. 
She's    comin'    here    now;     she's    got    some 
broomstick  mit  her,  too. 

Rip    snatches    up   his    gun    and    slinks   off 

around  the  corner  of  the  house. 
Enter    Gretchen   with    broomstick,   followed 
by  Hendrick  and  Meenie,  carrying  clothes- 
basket. 

GRETCHEN. 

Come  along,  children.  Now,  you  take  the 
washing  down  to  Dame  Van  Sloe's,  then  call  at 
the  butcher's  and  tell  him  that  my  husband  has 
not  got  back  yet,  so  I  will  have  to  go  down 
myself  to  the  marsh,  and  drive  up  the  bull  we 


56  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

have  sold  to  him.  Tell  him  the  beast  shall  be 
in  his  stable  in  half  an  hour;  so  let  him  have 
the  money  ready  to  pay  me  for  it. 

During  this  Rip  has  crept  in  and  sat  on  the 
bench  by  the  side  of  the  tub  behind 
Gretchen. 

Ah,  it  is  the  last  head  of  cattle  we  have  left. 
Houses,  lands,  beasts,  everything  gone,  —  every 
thing  except  a  drunken  beast  who  nobody 
would  buy  or  accept  as  a  gift. 

Rip !    Rip  !    wait  until  I  get  you  home ! 

Threatening  an  imaginary  Rip  with  broom 
stick. 

With  a  comical  grimace,  Rip  tiptoes  back 
behind  the  house. 

Come,  children,  to  work,  to  work ! 

Exit. 
Re-enter  Rip  cautiously. 

RIP. 

Laughing  to  himself. 

She  gone  to  look  after  the  bull.  She  better 
not  try  the  broomstick  on  him ;  he  won't  stand 

it. 

Drops   into  the  chair   with   his  back  to  the 

audience. 

HENDRICK. 
Oh,  Meenie,  there 's  your  father. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


RIP. 


57 


Holds  out  his  arms,  and  Meenie  runs  into 

them. 
Taking  her  in  his  arms,  and  embracing  her 

with  great  tenderness. 

Ah,  little  gorl,  was  you  glad  to  see  your 
father  come  home? 

MEENIE. 
Oh,  yes! 

RIP. 

Holding  her  close. 

I  don't  believe  it,  was  you?     Come  here. 

Getting  up  and  leading  her  to  the  chair  by 
the  side  of  the  table. 

Let  me  look  at  you ;  I  don't  see  you  for  such 
a  long  time;  come  here.  I  don't  deserve  to 
have  a  thing  like  that  belong  to  me. 

Takes  his  hat  off  as  if  in  reverence. 
You're    too    good    for    a   drunken,  lazy  feller 
like  me,  that 's  a  fact. 

Bites  his   underlip,   looks   up,   and   brushes 
away  a  tear. 

MEENIE. 

Kneeling  by  him. 
Oh,  no,  you  are  a  good  papa! 


58  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 

No,  I  was  n't :  no  good  father  would  go  and 
rob  his  child ;  that 's  what  I  've  done.  Why, 
don't  you  know,  Meenie,  all  the  houses  and 
lands  in  the  village  was  mine  —  they  would  all 
have  been  yours  when  you  grew  up?  Where 
they  gone  now?  I  gone  drunk  'em  up,  that's 
where  they  gone.  Hendrick,  you  just  take 
warnin'  by  that;  that's  what  lickcr  do;  see 

that? 

Holds  up  the  skirt  of  coat. 

Bring  a  man  to  hunger  and  rags.  Is  there 
any  more  in  that  cup  over  there?  Give  it  to 

me. 

Drinks. 

Rip  makes  this  confession  with  a  childlike 
simplicity.  The  tears  come,  and  he  brushes 
them  away  once  or  twice.  When  he  asks 
for  the  cup,  at  the  end,  it  seems  but  the 
natural  conclusion  of  his  speech. 

HENDRICK. 

H-arrds  him  cup. 

Don't  cry,  Rip;  Meenie  does  not  want  your 
money,  for  when  I  'm  a  big  man  I  shall  work 
for  her,  and  she  shall  have  all  I  get. 

MEENIE. 
Yes,  and  I  '11  have  Hendrick,  too. 


Yes,  ami  I  'II  have  Hemirick,  too." 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  59 

RIP. 

Greatly  amused. 

You  '11  have  Hendrick,  too. 

With  mock  gravity. 
Well,  is  this  all  settled? 

HENDRICK. 
Yes,  Meenie  and  me  have  made  it  all  up. 

RIP. 

I  did  n't  know,  I  only  thought  you  might 
speak  to  me  about  it;  but  if  it's  all  settled, 
Meenie,  then  git  married  mit  him. 

Laughing  silently,  and  suddenly. 

You  goin'  to  marry  my  daughter?  well,  now 

that's   very  kind  of  you.     Marry  one  another? 

The  children  nod. 
Rip,  with  immense  seriousness. 

Well,  here's  your  good  health,  and  your 
family,  may  they  live  long  and  prosper. 

To  Hendrick. 

What  you  goin'  to  do  when  you  get  married, 

and  grow  up  and  so? 

Leans  forward. 

HENDRICK. 

I'm  not  going  to  stop  here  with  father;  oh, 
no,  that  won't  do.  I  'm  going  with  Uncle  Hans 
in  his  big  ship  to  the  North  Pole,  to  catch 
whales. 


60  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Coin'  to  cotch  wahalcs  mit  the  North  Pole? 
That's  a  long  while  away  from  here. 

HENDRICK. 

Yes,  but  uncle  will  give  me  ten  shillings  a 
month,  and  I  will  tell  him  to  pay  it  all  to 
Meenie. 

RIP. 

There !  He 's  goin'  to  pay  it  all  to  you ; 
that 's  a  good  boy,  that 's  a  good  boy. 

MEENIE. 

Yes,  and  I  '11  give  it  all  to  you  to  keep  for  us. 

RIP. 

With  one  of  his  little  explosive  silent  laughs. 

I  would  n't  do  that,  my  darlin' ;    maybe  if  you 

give    it    to    me,    you.  don't    get    it    back    again. 

Hendrick ! 

Suddenly  earnest. 

You  shall  marry  Meenie  when  you  grow  up, 
but  you  mustn't  drink. 

HENDRICK. 

Slapping  Rip  on  the  knee. 
I'll  never  touch  a  drop. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  61 

RIP. 

Quite  seriously. 

You  won't,  nor  me  neither;   shake  hands  upon 
it.     Now  we  swore  off  together. 

With  a  change  of  tone. 
I  said  so  so  many  times,  and  never  kept  my 

word  once,  never. 

Drinks. 

HENDRICK. 
I  Ve  said  so  once,  and  I  '11  keep  mine. 

DERRICK. 

Outside. 
Well,  bring  it  along  with  you. 

RIP. 
Here    comes    Derrick:     he   don't    like    some 

children;    run  along  mit  you. 

Exit  children  with  basket. 
Enter  Derrick  from  inn  with  document. 

DERRICK. 

There,  Rip,  is  the  little  acknowledgment. 

Handing  it  to  him. 

RIP. 

Knowledgment 

Putting  on  hat. 

For  what  is  that? 


62  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

DERRICK. 
That  is  to  say  I  loaned  you  the  money. 

RIP. 

Lounging  back  in  his  chair. 
I  don't  want  that;   I  would  lose  it  if  I  had  it. 

Fills  his  cup  from  the  bottle. 

I  don't  want  it. 

Blandly. 

DERRICK. 
Don't  you?     But  I  do. 

RIP. 

With  simple  surprise. 

For  what? 

DERRICK. 

Why,  for   you   to   put   your   cross   to.     Why, 
bless  me,  I  Ve  forgotten  my  pen  and  ink. 

Enter  Cockles. 

But  luckily  here  comes  my  nephew  with  it. 

Aside. 
And  in  time  to  witness  the  signature. 

RIP. 

Say,  Derrick,  have  you   been  writing  all  that 
paper    full    in    the   little   time   you    been    in    the 

house  there? 

Turns  the  paper  about  curiously. 

Pours  out  more  schnapps. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  63 

DERRICK. 
Yes,  every  word  of  it. 

RIP. 

Have  you  ?     Well,  just  read  it  out  loud  to  me. 
With  an  air  of  great  simplicity. 

DERRICK. 

Aside. 

Does  he  suspect? 

Aloud. 

Why,    Rip,    this    is    the    first    time   you    ever 
wanted  anything  more  than  the  money. 

RIP. 

Clasping  his  hands  behind  his  head  with  an 
air  of  lordly  indifference. 

Yes,  I  know ;    but  I  got  nothing  to  do  now. 
I'm  a  little  curious  about  that,  somehow. 

COCKLES. 

Aside  to  Derrick. 

The  fish  has  taken  the  ground  bait,  but  he  's 
curious  about  the  hook. 

DERRICK. 

Aside. 
I  dare  not  read  a  word  of  it. 


64  RIP    VAN    WINKLE. 

COCKLES. 

Aside. 
Nunkey  's  stuck. 

DERRICK. 

Well,  Rip,  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  hear 
the  formalities. 

RlP. 

The  what? 

DERRICK. 
The  preliminaries. 

RlP. 

Indolently. 

I  '11  take  it  all,  —  Bill,  Claws,  and  Feathers. 
Leans    forward   and   rests  his   head   on    his 
hand,  and  looks  at  the  ground. 

DERRICK. 

"  Know  all  men  by  these  presents  that  I,  Rip 
Van  Winkle,  in  consideration  of  the  sum  of 
sixteen  pounds  received  by  me  from  Derrick 
Von  Beekman  "  — 

Looks  around  at  Cockles;  they  wink  know 
ingly  at  each  other.  Continues  as  if 
reading.  Watching  Rip  — 

Do  promise  and  undertake  to  pay  the  same 
in  twenty  years  from  date. 

Rip  looks  up ;  as  he  does  so,  Derrick  drops 
his  eyes  on  document,  then  looks  as  if  he 
had  just  finished  reading. 

There,  now  are  you  satisfied? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  65 

RIP. 

Takes  the  document.     Tn  childlike  surprise. 
Well,  well,  and  does  it  take  all  that  pen  and 
ink  to  say  such  a  little  thing  like  that? 

DERRICK. 
Why,  of  course  it  does. 

COCKLES. 

Aside  to  Derrick. 
Oh,  the  fool !    he  swallows  it  whole,  hook  and 

all. 

RIP. 

Spreading  the  paper  on  the  table. 
Where  goes  my  cross,  Derrick? 

DERRICK. 

Pointing. 
There,  you    see    I've    left   a    nice  little   white 

corner  for  you. 

RIP. 

Folds  up  paper  in  a  leisurely  manner,  and 

puts  it  in  game-bag. 
W-e-1-1,  I  '11  yust  think  about  it. 

Looks  up  at  Derrick,  innocently. 

DERRICK.   • 

Think   about    it?     Why,    what's    the    matter, 
Rip,  isn't  the  money  correct? 

5 


66  RIP   VAN    WINKLE." 

RIP. 

Oh,  yes,  I  got  the  money  all  right. 

Chuckling. 
Oh !    you  mean  about  signing  it. 

Rising.     At  a  loss,  for  a  moment. 
Stop,  yesterday  was  Friday,  wasn't  it? 

DERRICK. 
So  it  was. 

RIP. 

With  an  air  of  conviction. 

Well,  I  never  do  nothing  like  that  the  day 
after  Friday,  Derrick. 

Rip  walks  away  towards  his  cottage. 

DERRICK. 

Aside. 

The  idiot!  what  can  that  signify?  But  I 
must  not  arouse  his  suspicions  by  pressing 

him. 

Aloud. 

You  are  right,  Rip :  sign  it  when  you  please ; 
but  I  say,  Rip,  now  that  you  're  in  funds,  won't 
you  help  your  old  friend  Nick  Vedder,  who 
owes  me  a  year's  rent? 

RIP. 

Coming  back  to  the  table. 

Oh,  yah,  I  will  "wipe  off  my  schore,  and  stand 
treat  to  the  whole  willage. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  67 

DERRICK. 

Run,  boy,  and  tell  all  the  neighbours  that  Rip 
stands  treat. 

RIP. 

Leans  on  back  of  chair. 
An',  Cockles,  tell  them  we  '11  have  a  dance. 

COCKLES. 
A  dance! 

Runs  off. 

DERRICK. 

And  I  '11  order  the  good  cheer  for  you. 

Exit. 
RIP. 

So  do !     so  do ! 

Cogitating  dubiously. 
I  don't  understand  it. 

Re-enter  Hendrick  with  the  basket  over  his 
head,  followed  by  Meenie. 

Oh,  you've  come  back? 

HENDRICK. 
Yes,  we've  left  the  clothes. 

RIP. 
Meenie,  you  take  in  the  basket. 

Exit  Meenie  with  basket  into  cottage. 
Hendrick  is  following. 


68  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

Hendrick,  come  here. 

Hendrick  kneels  between  Rip's  knees. 
So  you  are  going  to  marry  my  daughter? 

Hendrick  nods. 

So,  so.     That's  very  kind  of  yer. 

Abruptly. 

Why   you   don't    been    to   school    to-day,  you 
go  to  school  sometimes,  don't  you? 

HENDRICK. 
Yes,  when  father  can  spare  me. 

RIP. 
What  do  you  learn  mit  that  school,  —  pretty 

much  something? 

Laughing  at  his  mistake. 

I  mean,  everything? 

HENDRICK. 
Yes;    reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic. 

RIP. 

Reading,  and  what? 

HENDRICK. 
And  writing,  and  arithmetic. 

RIP. 

Puzzled. 
Writing,  and  what? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  69 

HENDRICK. 
Arithmetic. 

RIP. 

More  puzzled. 
Whatmeticks  is  that? 

HENDRICK. 
Arithmetic. 

RIP. 

With    profound    astonishment    and    patting 
Hendrick's  head. 

I  don't  see  how  the  little  mind  can  stand  it 
all.     Can  you  read? 

HENDRICK. 
Oh,  yes! 

RIP. 

With  a  serious  affectation  of  incredulity. 

I  don't  believe  it ;    now,  I  'm  just  goin'  to  see 

if  you  can  read.     If  you  can't  read,  I  won't  let 

you  marry  my  daughter.     No,  sir. 

Very  drolly. 

I  won't  have  nobody  in  my  family  what  can't 

read. 

Taking  out  the  paper  that  Derrick  has  given 
him. 

Can  you  read  ritmatics  like  that? 

HENDRICK. 
Yes,  that's  writing. 


7o  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Nonplussed. 
Oh !    I  thought  it  was  reading. 

HENDRICK. 
It's  reading  and  writing,  too. 

RIP. 
What,  both  together.' 

Suspiciously  looking  at  the  paper. 
Oh,  yes ;    I  did  n't  see  that  before ;    go   long 
with  it. 

HENDRICK. 

Reads. 
"Know  all  men  by  these  presents" 

RIP. 

Pleased,  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 
Yah!     That's   right,  what  a  wonderful   thing 
der  readin'  is ;    why,  you  read  it  pretty  nigh  as 
good  as  Derrick,  yes,  you  do ;    go  long. 

HENDRICK. 
"That  I,  Rip  Van  Winkle"  — 

RIP. 

Taking  off  his  hat,  and  holding  it  with  his 
hands  behind  his  head. 

Yah,  that's  right;    you  read  it  yust  as  well  as 
Derrick;    go  long. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  71 

HENDRICK. 

"  In    consideration    of    the    sum    of    sixteen 
pounds   received   do  hereby  sell   and  convey  to 


Derrick   Von   Beekman   all    my   estate,   houses, 
lands  whatsoever"  — 

Hat  drops. 


72  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Almost  fiercely. 

What   are    you    rcadin',  some    ritmatics    what 
ain't  down  there:    Where  you  got  that? 

Looking  sharply  at  Hendrick. 


HENDRICK. 

Pointing. 
There.     Houses !     Lands,  whatsoever. 


RIP. 

Looking  not  at  the  paper  but  at  Hendrick 
very  earnestly,  as  if  turning  over  in  his 
mind  whether  the  boy  has  read  it  correctly. 
Then  satisfied  of  the  deception  Derrick 
has  practised  upon  him,  and  struck  by 
the  humour  of  the  way  in  which  he  has 
discovered  it,  he  laughs  exultantly  and 
looks  towards  the  inn-door  through  which 
Derrick 'disappeared  a  short  time  before. 

Yes,  so  it  is ;    go  long  mit  the  rest. 

He  leans  forward,  and  puts  his  ear  close  to 
Hendrick,  so  as  not  to  miss  a  word. 


HENDRICK. 

''Whereof  he  now  holds  possession  by  mort 
gaged  deeds,  from  time  to  time  executed  by 
me." 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  73 

RIP. 

Takes   paper,    and    looks    towards    the    inn 
fiercely  exultant. 

You    read    it   better    than    Derrick,    my   boy, 

much  better. 

After  a  moment's  pause  recollects  himself. 
Kindly,  to  Hendrick. 

That  will  do;    run  along  mit  you. 

Exit  Hendrick. 

RIP. 

Triumphantly. 

Aha,  my  friend,  Derrick !  I  guess  you  got 
some  snakes  in  the  -  grass.  Now  keep  sober, 
Rip;  I  don't  touch  another  drop  so  long  what 
I  live;  I  swore  off  now,  that's  a  fixed  fact. 

Enter  Derrick,  Vedder,  Stein,  and  villagers. 

DERRICK. 
Come,  Rip,  we  '11  have  a  rouse. 

RIP. 

Seriously;   half  fiercely  still. 

Here,  Nick  Vedder,  here  is  the  gelt;  wipe  off 
my  score,  and  drink  away.  I  don't  join  you ;  I 
swore  off. 

NICK. 
Why,  Rip,  you  're  king  of  the  feast. 


74  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Absently.     Still  intent  on  Derrick, 
Am  I  dat? 

OMNES. 

Swore  off?     What  for? 

RIP. 

I  don't  touch  another  drop. 

JACOB  STEIN. 

Coming  down  towards  Rip  with  cup. 
Come,  Rip,  take  a  glass. 

RIP. 

Turning  on  him,  almost  angry. 
Jacob  Stein,  you  hear  what  I  said? 

STEIN. 
Yes. 

RIP. 

Firmly. 
Well,  when  I  said  a  thing,  I  mean  it. 

Leans  back  in  chair  with  his  hands  behind 
his  head. 

STEIN. 
Oh,  very  well. 

Turns  away;  Nick  comes  clown  and  holds 
cup  under  Rip's  nose.  Rip  looks  to  see 
if  they  are  watching  him.  He  can  resist 
no  longer,  and  takes  the  cup. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  75 

RIP. 

Laughing. 

Well,  I  won't  count  this  one.  Here's  your 
good  health  and  your  families',  may  they  all  live 
long  and  prosper. 

DERRICK. 

Here  come  the  fiddlers  and  the  girls. 

Enter  girls. 

Rip  walks  over  and  closes  the  shutter  which 
has  held  his  score,  then  returns  and  seats 
himself  on  a  low  stool,  and  keeps  time  to 
the  music  as  the  villagers  dance. 
Finally,  the  rhythm  fires  his  blood.  He 
jumps  to  his  feet,  snatches  one  of  the 
girls  away  from  her  partner,  and  whirls 
into  the  dance.  After  a  round  or  two, 
he  lets  go  of  her,  and  pirouettes  two 
or  three  times  by  himself.  Once  more 
he  catches  her  in  his  arms,  and  is  in 
the  act  of  embracing  her,  when  he  per 
ceives  Gretchen  over  her  shoulder.  He 
drops  the  girl,  who  falls  on  her  knees  at 
Gretchen's  feet.  There  is  a  general  laugh 
at  his  discomfiture,  in  which  he  joins  half 
heartedly.  As  the  curtain  descends,  Rip 
is  seen  pointing  at  the  girl  as  if  seeking, 
like  a  modern  Adam,  to  put  the  blame 
on  her. 


Scene  in  the  Catskill  Mountains. 
From  Painting  by  Joseph  Jefferson.    ' 


ACT  II. 
SCENE  i. 

The  dimly  lighted  kitchen  of  Rip's  cottage. 
The  door  and  window  are  at  the  back. 
It  is  night,  and  through  the  window  a 
furious  storm  can  be  seen  raging,  with 
thunder,  lightning,  and  rain. 

A  fire  smoulders  on  the  hearth,  to  the  right, 
and  a  candle  gutters  on  the  table  in  the 
centre;  a  couple  of  chairs,  a  low  stool, 
and  a  little  cupboard,  meagrely  provided 
with  cups  and  platters,  complete  the  furni 
ture  of  the  room.  Between  the  door  and 
the  window  a  clothes-horse,  with  a  few 
garments  hanging  on  it,  forms  a  screen. 
To  the  left  is  a  small  door  leading  to  the 
other  rooms  of  the  cottage. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  Meenie  is  seen  sitting 
by  the  window,  and  Gretchen  enters,  takes 
off  cloak,  and  throws  a  broomstick  on  the 
table. 

GRETCHEN. 
Meenie!      Has  your  father  come  yet? 

MEENIE. 
No,  mother. 

GRETCHEN. 

So  much   the  better  for  him.     Never  let  him 
show  his  face  in  these  doors  again  —  never! 


8o  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

MEENIE. 

Oh,  mother,  don't  be  so  hard  on  him. 

GRETCHEN. 
I  'm  not  hard  ;    how  dare  you  say  so. 

Meenie  approaches  her. 

There,  child,  that  father  of  yours  is  enough 
to  spoil  the  temper  of  an  angel.  I  went  down 
to  the  marsh  to  drive  up  the  bull.  I  don't  know 
what  Rip  has  been  doing  to  the  beast ;  he  was 
howling  and  tearing  about.  I  barely  escaped 

with  my  life. 

A  crash  outside. 
What  noise  is  that? 

MEENIE. 
That's  only  Schneider,  father's  dog. 

GRETCIIEN. 

Picking  up  broomstick. 
Then,  I  '11  Schneider  him.     I  won't  have  him 

here. 

Exit  through  the  door  leading  to  the  rest  of 
the  cottage. 

Out,  you  idle,  vagabond  cur;    out,  I  say! 
MEEXIE. 

Following  her  to  the  door,  and  crying. 
Oh,  don't,  don't  hurt  the  poor  thing ! 

Re-enter  Gretchen. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  81 

GRETCHEN. 

He  jumped  out  of  the  window  before  I  could 
catch  him.  He 's  just  like  his  master.  Now, 
what  are  you  crying  for? 

MEENIE. 

Because  my  poor  father  is  out  in  all  this  rain. 
A  peal  of  thunder  is  heard. 
Hark,  how  it  thunders ! 

GRETCHEN. 

Serve  him  right  —  do  him  good.  Is  the  sup 
per  ready? 

MEENIE. 

Yes,  mother;    it  is  there  by  the  fireside. 

Pointing  to  a  soup-bowl  by  the  fire. 
Shall  I  lay  the  table? 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes. 

Again  it  thunders. 

It's  a  dreadful  night;   I  wonder  where  Rip  is? 
MEENIE. 

Bringing  the    cups   and    platters    from    the 
sideboard,  together  with  a  loaf  of  bread. 

Shall  I  lay  the  table  for  two,  mother,  or  for 

three? 

6 


82 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


G  RETCH  EN. 

For  two,  girl ;   he  gets  no  supper  here  to-night. 

Another  peal  of  thunder. 
Mercy,  how  the    storm   rages !     The   fool,   to 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  83 

stop  out  in  such  a  down-pour.  I  hope  he's 
found  shelter.  I  must  look  out  the  old  suit  I 
washed  and  mended  for  him  last  week,  and  put 
them  by  the  fire  to  air.  The  idiot,  to  stop  out 
in  such  a  down-pour !  I  '11  have  him  sick  on 
my  hands  next;  that's  all  I  want  to  complete 

my  misery. 

She  fetches  clothes  from  the  horse,  and 
hangs  them  on  the  back  of  the  chair  in 
front  of  the  fire. 

He  knows  what  I  am  suffering  now,  and  that's 

what  keeps  him  out. 

Lightning. 

Mercy,  what   a  flash  that  was !     The  wretch 
will  be  starved  with  the  cold  !     Meenie ! 

MEENIE. 

Yes,  mother. 

GRETCHEN. 

You  may  lay  the  table  for  three. 

There  is  a  knock  at  the  outer  door. 
There  he  is  now ! 

Enter  Hendrick,  who  shakes  the  rain  from 
his  hat.  ,  ,  i 

Where's  Rip?  v  Is  he  not  at  your  father's? 

HENDRICK. 
No;    I  thought  he  was  here. 


84  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

GRETCHEN. 

He  's  gone  back  to  the  mountain.  He  's  done 
it  on  purpose  to  spite  me. 

HENDRICK. 

Going  to  the  fire. 

Shall  I  run  after  him,  and  bring  him  home? 
I  know  the  road ;  we  Ve  often  climbed  it 
together. 

GRETCHEN. 

No ;  I  drove  Rip  from  his  house,  and  it 's  for 
me  to  bring  him  back  again. 

MEEXIE. 

Still  arranging  the  supper-table. 
But,  mother  — 

She  pauses,  with  embarrassment. 

If  he  hears  your  voice  behind  him,  he  will  only 
run  away  the  faster. 

GRETCHEN. 

Well,  I  can't  help  it ;  I  can't  rest  under  cover, 
while  he  is  out  in  the  storm.  I  shall  feel  better 
when  I  'm  outside  sharing  the  storm  with  him. 
Sit  down,  and  take  your  suppers.  I  '11  take  my 
cloak  along  with  me. 

Exit.  Meenie  has  seated  herself  by  the 
window.  Hendrick  carries  stool  to  the 
centre  of  the  stage,  in  front  of  the  table. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  85 

H  END  RICK. 
Meenie !     Meenie ! 

MEENIE. 
Eh? 

Hendrick  beckons  to  her.  She  runs  to  him. 
He  stops  her  suddenly,  then  puts  the 
stool  down  with  great  deliberation,  and 
sits  on  it,  while  Meenie  kneels  beside 
him. 

HENDRICK. 

In  a  very  solemn  tone. 

I  hope  your  father  ain't  gone  to  the  mountains 
to-night,  Meenie? 

MEENIE. 

In  distress. 
Oh,  dear!    he  will  die  of  the  cold  there. 

HENDRICK. 

Suddenly. 

Sh  ! 

Meenie  starts. 

It  ain't  for  that. 

Mysteriously. 

I  Ve  just  heard  old  Clausen,  over  at  father's, 
saying,  that  on  this  very  night,  every  twenty 
years,  the  ghosts  — 

MEENIE. 

Catching  his  wrist. 
The  what? 


86 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 
HENDRICK. 


In  an  awed  tone. 

The    ghosts    of    Hendrick    Hudson,    and    his 
pirate  crew,  visit  the  Kaatskills  above  here. 

The  two  children  look  around,  frightened. 


MEENIE. 
Oh,  dear!    did  he  say  so? 


Sh! 


HENDRICK. 

Again  they  look  around,  frightened. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  87 

Yes;   and    the    spirits    have    been    seen   there 
smoking,  drinking,  and  playing  at  tenpins. 

MEENIE. 
Oh,  how  dreadful ! 

H END  RICK. 
Sh! 

He  goes  cautiously  to  the  chimney,  and 
looks  up,  while  Meenie  looks  under  the 
table ;  then,  he  returns  to  the  stool, 
speaking  as  he  comes. 

Yes;    and  every  time   that  Hendrick  Hudson 
lights  his  pipe  there  's  a  flash  of  lightning. 

Lightning,  and  Meenie  gives  a  gasp  of  fear. 
And  when  he  rolls  the  balls  along,  there  is  a 
peal  of  thunder. 

Loud  rumble  of  thunder.  Meenie  screams, 
and  throws  herself  into  Hendrick's  arms. 

Don't  be  frightened,  Meenie ;    I  'm  here. 

In  a  frightened  tone,  but  with  a  manly  effort 
to  be  courageous. 

Re-enter  Gretchen  with  her  cloak. 

GRETCHEN. 

Here,  stop  that ! 

The  children  separate  quickly.  Hendrick 
looks  up  at  the  ceiling  and  whistles, 
with  an  attempt  at  unconsciousness,  and 
Meenie  assumes  an  innocent  and  uncon 
cerned  expression. 


88 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


Now,  don't  you  be  filling  that  child's  head  with 
nonsense,  but  remain  quietly  here  until  I  return. 

Hush,  what  noise  is  that? 
There  is  some  one  out 
side  the  window. 

She  steps  behind  the 
clothes-horse.  Rip  ap 
pears  at  the  window,, 
which  he  opens,  and 
leans  against  the  frame. 


RIP. 


Meenie  ! 


MEENIEAND  HENDRICK. 

Trying  to  make  him  per 
ceive  Gretchen,  by  a 
gesture  in  her  direc 
tion. 

Sh! 

Rip  turns,  and  looks  a- 
round  outside  to  see 
what  they  mean,  then, 
discovering  nothing, 
drops  his  hat  in  at 
the  window,  and  calls 
again,  cautiously. 


RIP. 


Meenie ! 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  89 

MEENIE  AND  HENDRICK. 

With  the  same  warning  gesture. 
Sh! 

Gretchen  shakes  her  fist  at  the  children, 
who  assume  an  air  of  innocence. 

RIP. 

What's   the    matter?     Meenie,   has   the   wild 
cat  come  home? 

Rip  reaches  in  after  his  hat.  Gretchen 
catches  him  by  his  hair,  and  holds  his 
head  down. 

Och,  my  darlin',  don't  do  that,  eh! 
HENDRICK  AND  MEENIE. 

Who  run  towards  Gretchen.. 
Don't,  mother  !     Don't,  mother  !     Don't ! 

RIP. 

Imitating  their  tone. 

Don't,    mother,    don't!      Don't    you    hear    the 
children?     Let  go  my  head,  won't  you? 

Getting  angry. 

GRETCHEN. 

Still  holding  his  head  down. 
No  ;    not  a  hair. 

RIP. 

Bantering. 

Hold  on  to  it  then,  what  do  I  care? 


9o  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

HENDRICK  AND  MEENIE. 

Catching  Gretchen's  dress. 
Don't,  mother  !     Don't,  mother  !     Don't ! 

Gretchen  lets  go  of  Rip,  and  turns  upon 
them.  They  escape,  and  disappear  through 
the  door  to  the  left. 

RIP. 

Getting  in  through  the  window,  and  coming 
forward,  apparently  drunk,  but  jolly ;  and 
his  resentment  for  the  treatment  he  has 
just  received  is  half  humourous. 

For  what  you  do  dat,  hey?     You  must  want 
a  bald-headed  husband,  I  reckon ! 

Gretchen  picks  up  chair,  and  bangs  it  down ; 
Rip  imitates  her  with  the  stool.  She  sits 
down,  angrily,  and  slaps  the  table.  Rip 
throws  down  his  felt  hat  with  a  great 
show  of  violence,  and  it  makes  no  noise, 
then  seats  himself  on  the  stool. 

G  RETCH  EX. 
Now,  then  ! 

RTF. 
Now,  den ;    I  don't  like  it  den,   neider. 

When  Rip  is  drunk,  his  dialect  grows  more 
pronounced. 

G  RETCH  EX. 
Who  did  you  call  a  wildcat? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  91 

RIP. 

With  a  sudden    little   tipsy   laugh,  and  con 
fused. 

A   wildcat  —  dat  's   when    I    come    in    at   the 
window? 

GRETCHEN. 

Yes ;    that 's  when  you  came  in  the  window. 

RIP. 

Rising,  and  with  a  tone  of  finality. 
Yes ;    that 's  the  time  I  said  it. 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes;    and  that's  the  time  I  heard  it. 

RIP. 

With  drunken  assurance. 

That 's  all   right ;    I  was   afraid   you  would  n't 
hear  it. 

GRETCHEN. 
Now,   who  did  you  mean  by  that  wildcat? 

RIP. 

Confused. 

Who  did  I  mean?     Now,  let  me  see. 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes;    who  did  you  mean? 


92  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 
How  do  I  know  who-oo  I  mean? 

With  a  sudden  inspiration. 
Maybe,  it's  the  dog  Schneider,  I  call  that. 

GRETCHEN. 

Incredulously. 
The  dog  Schneider;    that's  not  likely. 

RIP. 

Argumentative!)'. 

Of   course    it   is    likely;     he's    my    dog.     I'll 

call  him  a  wildcat  much  as  I  please. 

Conclusively. 

He   sits    down   in   the    chair    on    which   his 
clothes  are  warming,  in  front  of  the  fire. 

GRETCHEN. 

And  then,  there 's  your  disgraceful  conduct 
this  morning.  What  have  you  got  to  say  to 
that? 

RIP. 

How  do  I  know  what  I  got  to  say  to  that, 
when  I  don't  know  what  I  do-a,  do-a? 

Hiccoughs. 

GRETCHEN. 

Don't  know  what  you  do-a-oo !  Hugging 
and  kissing  the  girls,  before  my  face ;  you 
thought  I  would  n't  see  you. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  95 

RIP. 

Boldly. 

I  knowed  you  would  —  I  knowed  you  would ; 
because,  because  — 

Losing  the  thread  of  his  discourse. 
Oh-h,  don'  you  bodder  me. 

He  turns,  and  leans  his  head  against  the 
back  of  the  chair. 

GRETCHEN. 
You  knew  I  was  there? 

RIP. 

Laughing. 
I  thought  I  saw  you. 

GRETCHEN. 
I  saw  you  myself,  dancing  with  the  girl. 

RIP. 
You  saw  the  girl  dancin'  mit  me. 

Gretchen  remembers  Rip's  clothes,  and  goes 
over  to  see  if  he  is  wet,  and  pushes  him 
towards  the  centre  of  the  stage.  Rip 
mistakes  her  intention. 

You  want  to  pull  some  more  hair  out  of  my 
head? 

GRETCHEN. 

Why,    the    monster !     He    is  n't    wet    a   bit ! 
He's  as  dry  as  if  he'd  been  aired! 


96  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

RIP. 
Of  course  I  'm  dry. 

Laughing. 
I'm  always  dry  —  always  dry. 

GRETCHEN. 

Examines  game-bag,  and   pulls  out  a  flask, 
which  she  holds  under  Rip's  nose. 

Why,   what's    here?     Why,   it's    a    bottle  —  a 
bottle ! 

RIP. 

Leaning  against  the  table. 
Yes;    it's  a  bottle. 

Laughs. 

You    think    I    don't    know    a   bottle    when    I 
see  it? 

GRETCHEN. 

That's  pretty  game  for  your   game-bag,  ain't 
it? 

RlP. 

Assuming  an  innocent  air. 
Somebody  must  have  put  it  there. 

GRETCHEN. 

Putting  the  flask  in  her  pocket. 
Then,  you  don't  get  it  again. 

RlP. 

With  a  show  of  anger. 

Now  mind  if  I  don't  get  it  again  —  well  —  all 
there  is  about  it  — 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  97 

Breaking  down. 
I  don't  want  it.     I  have  had  enough. 

With  a  droll  air  of  conviction. 

GRETCHEN. 
I  'm  glad  you  know  when  you  Ve  had  enough. 

RIP. 

Still  leaning  against  the  table. 
That 's   the  way  mit   me.     I  'm    glad   I    know 

when  I  got  enough  — 

Laughs. 

An'  I  'm  glad  when  I  Ve  got  enough,  too.  Give 
me  the  bottle ;  I  want  to  put  it  in  the  game-bag. 

GRETCHEN. 
For  what? 

RIP. 

Lounging  off  the  table,  and  coming  forward 
and  leaning  his  arms  on  Gretchen's 
shoulders. 

So  that  I   can't  drink  it.      Here  's   the   whole 

business  — 

He  slides  his  hand  down  to  Gretchen's  pocket, 
and  tries  to  find  the  bottle  while  he  talks 
to  her. 

Here  's  the  whole  business  about  it.  What  is 
the  use  of  anybody  —  well — wash  the  use  of 
anybody,  anyhow  —  well —  oh  — 

Missing  the  pocket. 

7 


98  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

What  you  talkin'  'bout  — 

Suddenly  his  hand  slips  into  her  pocket,  and 
he  begins  to  pull  the  bottle  out,  with  great 
satisfaction. 

Now,  now  I  can  tell  you  all  'bout  it. 

G  RETCH  EN. 

Discovering  his  tactics,  and  pushing  him  away. 
Pshaw ! 

RIP. 

If  you  don't  give  me  the  bottle,  I  just  break 
up  everything  in  the  house. 

GRETCIIEN. 
If  you  dare  ! 

RIP. 

If  I  dare !  Have  n't  I  done  it  two  or  three 
times  before?  I  just  throw  everything  right  out 

of  the  window. 

Rip  throws  the  plates  and  cups  on  the  floor, 
and  overturns  a  chair,  and  seats  himself  on 
the  table.  Gretchen  picks  them  up  again. 

GRETCHEN. 
Don't,   Rip ;    don't  do  that !     Now  stop,  Rip, 

stop ! 

Gretchen  bangs  down  a  chair  by  the  table, 
and  seats  herself. 

Now,  then,  perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
tell  where  you  Ve  been  for  the  last  two  days. 
Where  have  you  been?  Do  you  hear? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  99 

RlR 

Where  I've  been?  Well,  it's  not  my  bottle, 
anyhow.  I  borrowed  that  bottle  from  another 
feller.  You  want  to  know  where  I  been? 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes ;   and  I  will  know. 

RIP. 

Good-humouredly. 

Let  me  see.  Last  night  I  stopped  out  all 
night. 

GRETCHEN. 
But  why? 

RIP. 

Why?     You  mean  the  reason  of  it? 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes,  the  reason. 

RIP. 

Inconsequently. 
The  reason  is  why?     Don't  bother  me. 

GRETCHEN. 

Emphasising  each  word  with  a  bang  on  the 

table. 
Why  —  did — you  —  stop  —  out  —  all  —  night? 

RIP. 

Imitating  her  tone. 
Because  —  I  —  want  —  to  —  get  —  up  —  early 

—  in  —  the  —  morning. 

Hiccough. 


ioo  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

Come,  don't  get  so  mad  mit  a  feller.  Why, 
I  Ve  been  fillin'  my  game-bag  mit  game. 

Rip  gets  down  off  the  table,  and   Gretchen 
comes  towards  him  and  feels  his  game-bag. 

GRETCHEN. 
Your  garne-bag  is  full  of  game,  isn't  it? 

RIP. 

Taking  her  hand  and  holding  it  away  from 
her  pocket. 

That?     Why,  that  would  n't  hold  it. 

Finding  his  way  into  Gretchen's  pocket. 
Now  I  can   tell  you  all  about  it.     You  know 
last  night  I  stopped  out  all  night - 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes ;   and  let  me  catch  you  again. 

He  is  pulling  the  bottle  out,  when  Gretchen 
catches  him,  and  slaps  his  hand. 

You  paltry  thief! 

RIP. 

Oh,  you  ain't  got  no  confidence  in  me.  Now 
what  do  you  think  was  the  first  thing  I  saw  in 
the  morning? 

Dragging  a  chair  to  the  front  of  the  stage. 

GRETCHEN. 
I  don't  know.     What? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  101 

RIP. 

Seating  himself. 

A  rabbit. 

GRETCHEN. 

Pleased. 
I  like  a  rabbit.     I  like  it  in  a  stew. 

RIP. 

Looking  at  her,  amused. 

I  guess  you  like  everything  in  a  stew  —  every 
thing  what 's  a  rabbit  I  mean.  Well,  there  was  a 
rabbit  a-feedin'  mit  the  grass,  —  you  know  they 
always  come  out  early  in  der  mornin'  and  feed 
mit  the  grass  ? 

GRETCHEN. 

Never  mind  the  grass.     Go  on. 

RIP. 
Don't  get  so  patient ;  you  wait  till  you  get  the 

rabbit. 

Humourously. 

Well,  I  crawl  up  — 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes,  yes ! 

RIP. 

Becoming  interested   in  his  own  powers   of 

invention. 
An'  his  little  tail  was  a-stickin'  up  so  — 

With  a  gesture  of  his  forefinger. 


102  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

GRETCHEN. 

Impatiently. 
Never  mind  his  tail.     Go  on. 

RIP. 

Remonstrating  at  her  interruption. 
The  more  fatter  the  rabbit,  the  more  whiter  is 
his  tail  — 

GRETCHEN. 
Well,  well,  go  on. 

RIP. 

Taking  aim. 
Well,  I  haul  up- 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes,  yes ! 

RIP. 

And  his  ears  was  a-stickin'  up  so  - 

Making  the  two  ears  with  his  two  forefingers. 

GRETCHEN. 

Never  mind  his  ears.     Go  on. 

RIP. 
I  pull  the  trigger. 

GRETCHEN. 

Eagerly. 
Bang  went  the  gun,  and  — 


RIP  VAN    WINKLE.  103 

RIP. 

Seriously. 
And  the  rabbit  run  away. 

GRETCHEN. 

Angrily. 
And  so  you  shot  nothing  ? 

RIP. 
How  will  I  shot  him  when  he  run  away? 

He  laughs  at  her  disappointment. 

There,  don't  get  so  mad  mit  a  feller.    Now  I  'm 

going  to  tell  you  what  I  did  shot;  that 's  what  I 

did  n't  shot.     You  know  that  old  forty-acre  field 

of  ours? 

GRETCHEN. 

Scornfully. 
Ours  !     Ours,  did  you  say? 

RIP. 

Shamefacedly. 

You  know  the   one   I  mean  well  enough.     It 
used  to  be  ours. 

GRETCHEN. 

Regretfully. 
Yes ;    it  used,  indeed  ! 

RIP. 
It  ain't  ours  now,  is  it? 


io4  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

GRETCHEN. 

Sighing. 
No,  indeed,  it  is  not. 

RIP. 

No?  Den  I  wouldn't  bodder  about  it.  Better 
let  somebody  bodder  about  that  field  what  belongs 
to  it.  Well,  in  that  field  dere  's  a  pond ;  and 
what  do  you  think  I  see  in  that  pond? 

GRETCHEN. 
I  don't  know.     Ducks? 

RIP. 
Ducks  !     More  an'  a  thousand. 

GRETCHEX. 

Walking  to  where  broomstick  is. 
More  than  a  thousand  ducks? 

RlP. 
I  haul  up  again  — 

GRETCHEN. 

Picking  up  broomstick. 
Yes,  and   so  will  I.     And  if  you  miss  fire  this 

time  — 

She  holds  it  threateningly  over  Rip's  shoulder. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  105 

RIP. 

Looking  at  it  askance  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye,  then  putting  up  his  hand  and 
pushing  it  aside. 

You  will  scare  the  ducks  mit  that.  Well,  I 
take  better  aim  this  time  as  I  did  before.  I  pull 
the  trigger,  and  —  bang  ! 

GRETCHEN. 
How  many  down? 

RIP. 

Indifferently. 
One. 

GRETCHEN. 

Indignantly. 
What!  only  one  duck  out  of  a  thousand? 

RIP. 
Who  said  one  duck? 

GRETCHEN. 
You  did. 

RIP. 

Getting  up,  and  leaning  on  the  back  of  the 

chair. 
I  did  n't  say  anything  of  the  kind. 

GRETCHEN. 
You  said  "one." 

RIP. 
Ah !      One.     But  I  shot  more  as  one  duck. 


io6 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


Did  you? 


GRETCHEN. 


RIP. 


Crosses  over,  and  sits  on  the  low  stool,  and 

laughs  silently. 

I  shot  our  old  bull. 

Gretchen  flings  down 
the  broomstick, 
and  throws  her 
self  into  the  chair 
at  the  right  of  the 
table,  in  dumb 
rage. 

I  did  n't  kill  him. 
I  just  sting  him,  you 
know.  Well,  then 
the  bull  come  right 
after  me  ;  and  I  come 
right  away  from  him. 
O  Gretchen,  how  you 
would  laugh  if  you 
could  see  that  — 

With  a  vain  appeal  to  her  sense  of  humour, 
the  bull  was  a-comin',  and  I  was  a-goin.  Well, 
he  chased  me  across  the  field.  I  tried  to  climb 
over  the  fence  so  fast  what  I  could,  - 

Doubles  up  with  his  silent  laugh. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  107 

an'  the  bull  come  up  an'  save  me  the  trouble  of 
that.     Well,  then,  I  rolled  over  on  the  other  side. 

GRETCHEN. 

With  disgust. 

And  then  you  went  fast  asleep  for  the  rest  of 
the  day. 

RIP. 
That 's  a  fact.     That 's  a  fact. 

GRETCHEN. 

Bursting  into  tears,  and  burying  her  head  in 
her  arms  on  the  table. 

0  Rip,  you  '11  break  my  heart!     You  will. 

RIP. 

Now  she  gone  crying  mit  herself!  Don't  cry, 
Gretchen,  don't  cry.  My  d-a-r-1-i-n',  don't  cry. 

GRETCHEN. 

Angrily. 

1  will  cry ! 

RIP. 

Cry 'way  as  much  you  like.  What  do  I  care? 
All  the  better  soon  as  a  woman  gets  cryin';  den 
all  the  danger  's  over. 

Rip  goes  to  Gretchen,  leans  over,  and  puts 
his  arm  around  her. 


io8 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


Gretchen,  don't  cry;   my  angel,  don't. 

He    succeeds   in  getting  his   hand   into   her 
pocket,  and  steals  the  bottle. 


Don't  cry,  my  daarlin'. 

Humourously. 

Gretchen,   won't  you  give  me  a  little  drop  out 
of  that  bottle  what  you  took  away  from  me? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  109 

He  sits  on  the  table,  just  behind  her,  and 
takes  a  drink   from  the  bottle. 

GRETCHEN. 
Here  's  a  man  drunk,  and  asking  for  more. 

RIP. 

I  was  n't.     I  swore  off. 

Coaxingly. 

You  give  me  a  little  drop,  an'  I  won't  count  it. 
GRETCHEN. 

Sharply. 
No! 

RIP. 

Drinking  again. 

Well,  den,  here  's  your  good  health,  an'  your 
family,  and  may  they  live  long  and  prosper ! 

Puts  bottle  in  his  bag. 

GRETCHEN. 

You   unfeeling  brute.      Your  wife 's    starving. 
And,  Rip,  your  child  's  in  rags. 

RIP. 

Holding    up  his  coat,  and  heaving  a  sigh  of 
resignation. 

Well,  I  'm  the  same  way;   you  know  dat. 
GRETCHEN. 

Sitting  up,  and  looking  appealingly  at  Rip.. 
Oh,  Rip,  if  you  would  only  treat  me  kindly ! 


no  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RlP. 

Putting  his  arms  around  her. 

Well,   den,    I   will.     I  'm   going   to    treat   you 
kind.     I  '11  treat  you  kind. 

GRETCHEX. 
Why,  it  would  add  ten  years  to  my  life. 

RlP. 

Over  her  shoulder,  and  after  a  pause. 
That's   a  great  inducement;    it  is,  my  darlin'. 
I  know  I  treat  you  too  bad,  an'  you  deserve  to 
be  a  widow. 

GRETCHEN. 

Getting  up,  and  putting  her  arms  on  Rip's 
shoulders. 

Oh,  Rip,  if  you  would  only  reform  ! 

RlP. 

Well,  den,  I  will.     I  won't  touch  another  drop 
so  long  what  I  live. 

GRETCHEN. 
Can  I  trust  you? 

RlP. 

You  must  n't  suspect  me. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  m 

GRETCHEN. 

Embracing  him. 
There,  then,  I  will  trust  you. 

She  takes  the  candle,  and  goes  to  fetch  the 
children. 

Here,   Hendrick,  Meenie.      Children,  where  are 
you? 

Exit  through  the  door  on  the  left. 

RIP. 

Seats  himself  in  the  chair  to  the  right  of  the 
table,  and  takes  out  flask. 

Well,  it 's  too  bad  ;  but  it 's  all  a  woman's  fault 
any  way.  When  a  man  gets  drinkin'  and  that, 
they  ought  to  let  him  alone.  So  soon  as  they 
scold  him,  he  goes  off  like  a  sky-rocket. 

Re-enter  Gretchen  and  the  children. 

GRETCHEN. 

Seeing  the  flask  in  Rip's  hand. 
I  thought  as  much. 

RIP. 

Unconscious  of  her  presence. 

How  I  did  smooth  her  down  !  I  must  drink 
her  good  health.  Gretchen,  here  's  your  good 

health. 

About  to  drink. 


ii2  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

GRETCHEN. 

Snatching  the  bottle,  and  using  it  to  gesticu 
late  with. 

Oh,  you  paltry  thief! 

RIP. 

Concerned  for  the  schnapps. 
What  you  doin'?     You'll  spill  the  licker  out 

of  the  bottle. 

He  puts  in  the  cork. 

GRETCHEN. 

Examining  the  flask. 
Why,  the  monster,  he  's  emptied  the  bottle  ! 

RIP. 
That 's  a  fac'.     That 's  a  fac'. 

GRETCHEN. 

Throwing  down  the  flask. 

Then  that  is  the  last  drop  you  drink  under  my 
roof! 

RIP. 
What !     What ! 

Meenie  approaches  her  father  on  tiptoe,  and 
kneels  beside  him. 

GRETCHEN. 

Out,  you  drunkard !  Out,  you  sot !  You 
disgrace  to  your  wife  and  to  your  child  !  This 
house  is  mine. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  113 

RIP. 

Dazed,  and  a  little  sobered. 
Yours !      Yours ! 

GRETCHEN. 

Raising  her  voice  above  the  storm,  which 
seems  to  rage  more  fiercely  outside. 

Yes,  mine,  mine  !  Had  it  been  yours  to  sell,  it 
would  have  gone  along  with  the  rest  of  your 
land.  Out,  then,  I  say- 

Pushing  open  the  door. 

for  you  have  no  longer  any  share  in  me  or  mine. 

A  peal  of  thunder. 

MEENIE. 

Running  over,  and  kneeling  by  Gretchen. 
Oh,  mother,  hark  at  the  storm  ! 

GRETCHEN. 

Pushing  her  aside. 

Begone  man,  can't  you  speak  ?  Are  you  struck 
dumb  ?  You  sleep  no  more  under  my  roof. 

RlP. 

Who  has  not  moved,  even  his  arm  remaining 
outstretched,  as  it  was  when  Meenie  slipped 
from  his  side,  murmurs  in  a  bewildered, 
incredulous  way. 

Why,  Gretchen,  are  you  goin'  to  turn  me  out 
like  a  dog? 


n4  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

Gretcben  points  to  the  door.  Rip  rises  and 
leans  against  the  table  with  a  groan.  His 
conscience  speaks. 

Well,  maybe  you  are  right. 

His  voice  breaks,  and  with  a  despairing 
gesture. 

I  have  got  no  home.  I  will  go.  But  mind, 
Gretchen,  after  what  you  say  to  me  to-night,  I 
can  never  darken  your  door  again  —  never  — 

Going  towards  the  door, 
I  will  go. 

HENDRICK. 

Running  to  Rip. 

Not    into    the    storm,     Rip.       Hark,    how    it 
thunders  ! 

RlP. 

Putting  his  arm  round  him. 

Yah,  my  boy;    but  not  as   bad   to   me  as  the 
storm  in  my  home.     I  will  go. 

At  the  door  by  this  time. 

MEENIE. 

Catching  Rip's  coat. 
No,  father,  don't  go  ! 

RIP. 

Bending  over  her  tenderly,  and  holding  her 
close  to  him. 

My  child  !     Bless  you,  my  child,  bless  you  ! 

Meenie  faints.     Rip  gives  a  sobbing  sigh- 


"  No ;  you  have  driven  me  from  voitr  house. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  115 

GRETCHEN. 

Relenting. 
No,  Rip  —  I  - 

RIP. 

Waving  her  off. 

No;  you  have  drive  me  from  your  house.  You 
have  opened  the  door  for  me  to  go.  You  may 
never  open  it  for  me  to  come  back. 

Leans  against  the  doorpost,  overcome  by  his 
emotion.  His  eye  rests  on  Meenie,  who 
lies  at  his  feet. 

You  say  I  have   no  share   in   this   house. 

Points  to  Meenie  in  profound  despair. 
Well,   see,  then,  I  wipe  the  disgrace  from  your 

door. 

He  staggers  out  into  the  storm. 

GRETCHEN. 
No,  Rip  !      Husband,  come  back  ! 

Gretchen  faints,  and  the  curtain  falls. 


Scene  in  the  Catskill  Mountains. 
From  Painting  by  Joseph  Jefferson. 


ACT   III. 
SCENE  i. 

A  steep  and  rocky  clove  in  the  Kaatskill 
Mountains,  down  which  rushes  a  torrent, 
swollen  by  the  storm.  Overhead,  the  hem 
locks  stretch  their  melancholy  boughs.  It 
is  night.  Rip  enters,  almost  at  a  run, 
with  his  head  down,  and  his  coat-collar 
turned  up,  beating  his  way  against  the 
storm.  With  the  hunter's  instinct,  he  pro 
tects  the  priming  of  his  gun  with  the 
skirt  of  his  jacket.  Having  reached  a 
comparatively  level  spot,  he  pauses  for 
breath,  and  turns  to  see  what  has  become 
of  his  dog. 

RIP. 

Whistling  to  the  dog. 

Schneider!  Schneider!  What's  the  matter 
with  Schneider?  Something  must  have  scared 
that  dog.  There  he  goes  head  over  heels  down 
the  hill.  Well,  here  I  am  again  —  another  night 
in  the  mountains !  Heigho !  these  old  trees 

begin  to  know  me,  I  reckon. 

Taking  off  his  hat. 

How  are  you,  old  fellows?  Well,  I  like  the 
trees,  they  keep  me  from  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
and  they  never  blow  me  up  ;  and  when  I  lay  me 


120  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

down  on   the  broad  of  my  back,  they  seem  to 
bow  their  heads   to  me,  an'  say:    Go  to   sleep, 

Rip,  go  to  sleep. 

Lightning. 

My,  what  a  flash  that  was !  Old  Hendrick 
Hudson 's  lighting  his  pipe  in  the  mountains 
to-night;  now,  we '11  hear  him  roll  the  big  balls 

along. 

Thunder. 

Rip  looks  back  over  the  path  he  has  come, 
and  whistles  again  for  his  dog. 

Well,  I  —  no  —  Schneider!  No;  whatever  it 
is,  it's  on  two  legs.  Why,  what  a  funny  thing 
is  that  a  comin'  up  the  hill?  I  thought  nobody 
but  me  ever  come  nigh  this  place. 

Enter  a  strange  dwarfish  figure,  clad  all  in 
gray  like  a  Dutch  seaman  of  the  seven 
teenth  century,  in  short-skirted  doublet, 
hose,  and  high-crowned  hat  drawn  over 
his  eyes.  From  beneath  the  latter  his 
long  gray  beard  streams  down  till  it 
almost  touches  the  ground.  He  carries  a 
keg  on  his  shoulder.  He  advances  slowly 
towards  Rip,  and,  by  his  gesture,  begs  Rip 
to  set  the  keg  down  for  him.  Rip  does 
so,  and  the  dwarf  seats  himself  upon  it. 

RlP. 

With  good-humoured  sarcasm. 
Sit  down,  and  make  yourself  comfortable. 

A  long  pause  and  silence. 


"  Whit  's  the  matter  with  Schneider  ?  " 

From  Painting -the  figure  by  F.  Eugene  Smith;  the  landscap. 
background  by  Joseph  Jefferson. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  123 

What?  What's  the  matter?  Ain't  ye  goin' 
to  speak  to  a  feller?  I  don't  want  to  speak  to 
you,  then.  Who  you  think  you  was,  that  I 
want  to  speak  to  you,  any  more  than  you  want 
to  speak  to  me;  you  hear  what  I  say? 

Rip  pokes  the  dwarf  in  the  ribs,  who  turns, 
and  looks  up.  Rip  retreats  hastily. 

Donner  an'  Blitzen  !  What  for  a  man  is  das? 
I  have  been  walking  over  these  mountains  ever 
since  I  was  a  boy,  an'  I  never  saw  a  queer- 
looking  codger  like  that  before.  He  must  be 
an  old  sea-snake,  I  reckon. 

The  dwarf  approaches  Rip,  and  motions 
Rip  to  help  him  up  the  mountain  with 
the  keg. 

RIP. 

Well,  why  don't  you  say  so,  den?  You 
mean  you  would  like  me  to  help  you  up  with 

that  keg? 

The  dwarf  nods  in  the  affirmative. 

Well,  sir,  I  don't  do  it. 

The  dwarf  holds  up  his  hands  in  supplica 
tion. 

No ;  there 's  no  good  you  speakin'  like  that. 
I  never  seed  you  before,  did  I  ? 

The  dwarf  shakes  his  head.  Rip,  with 
great  decision,  walking  away,  and  leaning 
against  a  tree. 


124  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

I  don't  want  to  see  you  again,  needer.  What 
have  you  got  in  that  keg,  schnapps? 

The  dwarf  nods. 
I  don't  believe  you. 

The  dwarf  nods  more  affirmatively. 

Is  it  good  schnapps? 

The  dwarf  again  insists-. 

Well,  I  '11  help  you.  Go  'long  pick  up  my 
gun,  there,  and  I  follow  you  mit  that  keg  on  my 
shoulder.  I  '11  follow  you,  old  broadchops. 

As  Rip  shoulders  the  keg,  a  furious  blast 
whirls  up  the  valley,  and  seems  to  carry 
him  and  his  demon  companion  before 
it.  The  rain  that  follows  blots  out  the 
landscape.  For  a  few  moments,  all  is 
darkness.  Gradually,  the  topmost  peak 
of  the  Kaatskill  Mountains  becomes  visi 
ble,  far  above  the  storm.  Stretching 
below,  the  country  lies  spread  out  like  a 
map.  A  feeble  and  watery  moonlight 
shows  us  a  weird  group,  gathered  upon  the 
peak,  —  Hendrick  Hudson,  and  his  ghostly 
crew.  In  the  foreground,  one  of  them 
poises  a  ball,  about  to  bowl  it,  while  the 
others  lean  forward  in  attitudes  of  watch 
ful  expectancy.  Silently  he  pitches  it; 
and,  after  a  momentary  pause,  a  long 
and  rumbling  peal  of  thunder  reverberates 
among  the  valleys  below. 

At  this  moment,  the  demon,  carrying  Rip's 
gun,  appears  over  the  crest  of  the  peak 
in  the  background,  and  Rip  toils  after 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  127 

with  the  keg  on  his  shoulder.  Arrived  at 
the  summit,  he  drops  the  keg  on  his  knee, 
and  gasps  for  breath. 

RIP. 

Glancing  out  over  the  landscape. 
I  say,  old  gentleman,  I  never  was  so  high  up 
in   the  mountains  before.     Look  down   into  the 
valley  there;    it  seems  more  as  a  mile.     I  — 

Turning  to  speak  to  his  companion,  and 
perceiving  another  of  the  crew. 

You  're  another  feller  ! 

The  second  demon  nods  assent. 
You're  that  other  chap's  brother? 

The  demon  again  assents.  Rip  carries  the 
keg  a  little  further,  and  comes  face  ta 
face  with  a  third. 

RIP. 
You're  another  brother? 

The  third  demon  nods  assent.  Rip  takes 
another  step,  and  perceives  Hendrick  Hud 
son  in  the  centre,  surrounded  by  many 
demons. 

You're  his  old  gran'father? 

Hudson  nods.  Rip  puts  down  the  keg  in 
perplexity,  not  untinged  with  alarm. 

Donner  and  Blitzen  !   here's  the  whole  family;. 
I  'm  a  dead  man  to  a  certainty. 


128  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

The  demons  extend  their  arms  to  Hudson, 
as  if  inquiring  what  they  should  do.  He 
points  to  Rip,  they  do  the  same. 

RIP. 
My,    my,    I    suppose    they  're    speakin'    about 

me ! 

Looking  at  his  gun,  which  the  first  demon 
has  deposited  on  the  ground,  and  which 
lies  within  his  reach. 

No   good    shootin'   at  'em;    family's    too   big 

for  one  gun. 

Hendrick  Hudson  advances,  and  seats  him 
self  on  the  keg  facing  Rip.  The  demons 
slowly  surround  the  two. 

RIP. 

Looking  about  him  with  growing  apprehension. 

My,   my,   I   don't  like  that  kind  of  people  at 

all !     No,  sir !     I    don't   like   any  sech    kind.     I 

like    that    old    gran'father    worse    than    any    of 

them. 

With  a  sheepish  attempt  to  be  genial,  and 
appear  at  his  ease. 

How  you  was,  old  gentleman?     I  did  n't  mean 

to  intrude  on  you,  did  I? 

Hudson  shakes  his  head. 
What? 

No  reply. 

I  '11  tell  you  how  it  was ;    I  met  one  of  your 
gran'children,  I  don't  know  which  is  the  one  — 

Glancing  around. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  129 

They're  all  so  much  alike.     Well  — 

Embarrassed,  and  looking  at  one  demon. 

That 's   the    same    kind  of  a  one.     Any   way 

this    one,    he    axed    me    to    help    him    up    the 

mountain    mit   dat   keg.     Well,  he   was    an    old 

feller,  an'  I  thought  I  would  help  him. 

Pauses,  troubled  by  their  silence. 

Was  I  right  to  help  him? 

Hudson  nods. 

I  say,  was  I  right  to  help  him? 

Hudson  nods  again. 

If  he  was   here,  he   would   yust  tell  you    the 
same  thing  any  way,  because  — 

Suddenly  perceiving  the  demon  he  had  met 
below. 

Why,  dat's  the  one;    ain't  it? 

The  demon  nods. 

Yes ;    dat  is  the  one,  dat 's  the  same  kind  of 
a  one  dat  I  met.     Was  I  right  to  come? 

Hudson  nods  approval. 

I  didn't  want  to  come  here,  anyhow;   no,  sir, 
I    did  n't  want  to  come   to   any  such   kind  of  a 

place. 

After  a  pause,  seeing  that  no  one  has   any 
thing  to  say. 

I  guess  I  better  go  away  from  it. 

Rip  picks  up  his  gun,  and  is  about  to  return 
by  the  way  he  came ;  but  the  demons  raise 

9 


1 3o  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

their   hands   threateningly,  and  stop  him. 
He  puts  his  gun  down  again. 

I  didn't  want  to  come  here,  anyhow  — 

Grumbling  to  himself,  then  pulling  him 
self  together  with  an  effort,  and  facing 
Hudson. 

Well,  old   gentleman,  if  you  mean  to  do  me 
any  harm,  just  speak  it  right  out  — 

Then  with  a  little  laugh. 
Oh  !     I  will  die  game  — 

Glancing  round  for  a  means  of  escape,  and 
half  to  himself. 

If  I   can't  run  away. 

Hudson  extends  a  cup  to  Rip,  as  if  inviting 
him  to  drink. 

RIP. 

Doubtfully. 

You  want  me  to  drink  mit  you? 

Hudson  nods.  Rip  approaches  him  cau 
tiously,  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  of 
a  drink. 

Well,  I  swore  off  drinkin'  ;    but  as  this  is  the 
first  time  I  see  you,  I  won't  count  this  one  — 

He  takes  the  cup.  Hudson  holds  up  an 
other  cup.  Rip  is  reassured,  and  his  old 
geniality  returns. 

You    drink    mit    me?      We    drink    mit     one 
another? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  133 

Hudson  nods  affirmatively.  Rip  feels  at 
home  under  these  familiar  circumstances, 
and  becomes  familiar  and  colloquial  again. 

What's    the   matter    mit  you,   old    gentleman, 
anyhow?     You  go  and  make  so 

Imitating  the  demon, 
mit  your  head  every  time ;  was  you  deaf  ? 

Hudson  shakes  his  head. 
Oh,  nein. 

Laughing  at  his  error. 

If  you   was   deaf,  you  would  n't  hear  what   I 

was   sayin'.     Was  you  dumb  ? 

Hudson  nods  yes. 
So?     You  was  dumb? 

Hudson  nods  again. 

Has  all  of  your  family  the  same  complaint? 

Hudson  nods. 

All  the  boys  dumb,  hey?     All  the  boys  dumb. 
All  the  demons  nod.     Then,  suddenly,  as  if 
struck  with  an  idea. 

Have  you  got  any  girls? 

Hudson  shakes  his  head. 

Don't  you?     Such  a  big  family,  and  all  boys? 

Hudson  nods. 

RIP. 

With  profound  regret. 

That's   a  pity;    my,  that's   a  pity.     Oh,  my, 
if   you    had    some   dumb  girls,  what  wives  they 

would  make  — 

Brightening  up. 


134  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

Well,  old  gentleman,  here  's  your  good  health, 

and  all  your  family  — 

Turning,  and  waving  to  them. 

may  they  live  long  and  prosper. 

Rip  drinks.  As  he  does  so,  all  the  demons 
lean  forward,  watching  the  effect  of  the 
liquor.  Rip  puts  his  hand  to  his  head. 
The  empty  cup  falls  to  the  ground. 

RIP. 

In  an  awed  and  ecstatic  voice. 
What  for  licker  is  that! 

As  he  turns,  half  reeling,  he  sees  Hudson 
holding  out  to  him  another  cup.  He 
snatches  it  with  almost  frantic  eagerness. 

RIP. 
Give  me  another  one ! 

He  empties  it  at  a  draught.  A  long  pause 
follows,  during  which  the  effect  of  the 
liquor  upon  Rip  becomes  apparent;  the 
light  in  his  eyes  fades,  his  exhilaration  dies 
out,  and  he  loses  his  grasp  on  the  reality 
of  his  surroundings.  Finally,  he  clasps 
his  head  with  both  hands,  and  cries  in  a 
muffled,  terrified  voice. 

RIP. 

Oh,    my,    my   head    \vas    so    light,    and    now, 
it 's  heavy  as  lead  ! 

He  reels,  and  falls  heavily  to  the  ground. 
A  long  pause.  The  demons  begin  to 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  135 

disappear.     Rip  becomes  dimly  conscious 
of  this,  and  raises  himself  on  his  elbow. 

RIP. 

Are  you   goin'  to  leave  me,  boys  ?     Are  you 
goin'  to  leave  me  all  alone?     Don't  leave  me; 

don't  go  away. 

With  a  last  effort. 

I    will    drink    your    good    health,    and    your 

family's  — 

He  falls  back  heavily,  asleep. 


[CURTAIN.] 


Scene  in  the  Cat  skill  Mountains. 
From  Painting  by  Joseph  Jefferson. 


ACT   IV. 

SCENE  i. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  the  same  high  peaks  of 
the  Kaatskills,  and  the  far-stretching  valley 
below,  are  disclosed  in  the  gray  light  of 
dawn. 

Rip  is  still  lying  on  the  ground,  as  in  the  last 
act ;  but  he  is  no  longer  the  Rip  we  knew. 
His  hair  and  beard  are  long  and  white, 
bleached  by  the  storms  that  have  rolled 
over  his  head  during  the  twenty  years  he 
has  been  asleep. 

As  he  stirs  and  slowly  rises  to  a  half-sitting 
posture,  we  see  that  his  former  picturesque 
rags  have  become  so  dilapidated  that  it  is 
a  matter  of  marvel  how  they  hold  together. 
They  have  lost  all  traces  of  colour,  and 
have  assumed  the  neutral  tints  of  the  moss 
and  lichens  that  cover  the  rocks. 

His  voice,  when  he  first  speaks,  betrays  even 
more  distinctly  than  his  appearance  the 
lapse  of  time.  Instead  of  the  full  round 
tones  of  manhood,  he  speaks  in  the  high 
treble  of  feeble  old  age.  His  very  hands 
have  grown  old  and  weatherbeaten. 

RIP. 

Staring  vacantly  around. 

I  wonder  where  I  was.     On  top  of  the  Kaat- 
skill  Mountains  as  sure  as  a  gun  !     Won't  my  wife 


140  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

give  it  to  me  for  stopping  out  all  night?     I  must 

get  up  and  get  home  with  myself. 

Trying  to  rise. 

Oh,  I  feel  very  bad  !     Vat  is  the   matter  with 
,my  elbow? 

In  trying  to  rub  it,  the  other  one  gives  him 
such  a  twinge  that  he  cries  out. 


Oh  !  The  other  elbow  is  more  badder  than 
the  other  one.  I  must  have  cotched  the  rheuma- 
tix  a-sleepin'  mit  the  wet  grass. 

He  rises  with  great  difficulty. 

Och  !      I  never  had  such  rheumatix  like  that. 

He  feels  himself  all  over,  and  then  stands  for 
a  moment  pondering,  and  bewildered  by  a 
strange  memory. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


141 


I  was  n't  sleeping  all  the  time,  needer.     I  know 
I  met  a  queer  kind  of  a  man,  and  we  got  drinkin', 


and  I   guess   I    got  pretty  drunk.     Well,  I  must 
pick  up  my  gun,  and  get  home  mit  myself. 


142  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

After  several  painful  attempts,  he  succeeds  in 
picking  up  his  gun,  which  drops  all  to 
pieces  as  he  lifts  it.  Rip  looks  at  it  in 
amazement. 

My  gun  must  have  cotched  the  rheumatix 
too.  Now  that 's  too  bad.  Them  fellows  have 
gone  and  stole  my  good  gun,  and  leave  me  this 
rusty  old  barrel. 

Rip  begins  slowly  to  climb  over  the  peak 
towards  the  path  by  which  he  had  ascended, 
his  memory  seeming  to  act  automatically. 
When  he  reaches  the  highest  point,  where 
lie  can  look  out  over  the  valley,  he  stops  in 
surprise. 

Why,  is  that  the  village  of  Falling  Waters  that 
I  see?  Why,  the  place  is  more  than  twice  the 

size  it  was  last  night.     I  — 

He  sinks  down. 

I  don't  know  whether  I  am  dreaming,  or  sleep 
ing,  or  waking. 

Then  pulling  himself  together  with  a  great 
effort,  and  calling  up  the  image  of  his  wife 
to  act  as  whip  and  spur  to  his  waning  pow 
ers,  he  says,  with  humourous  conviction,  as 
he  gets  up  painfully  again  :  — 

I  go  home  to  my  wife.  She  '11  let  me  know 
whether  I  'm  asleep  or  awake  or  not. 

Almost  unable  to  proceed.. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  145 

I  don't  know  if  I  will  ever  get  home,  my  k-nees 
are  so  stiff.     My  backbone,  it 's  broke  already. 

As  the  curtain  falls,  Rip  stands  leaning  on 
the  barrel  of  his  gun  as  on  a  staff,  with 
one  hand  raised,  looking  out  over  the  valley. 


SCENE  n. 

A  comfortable-looking  room  in  Derrick's 
house.  As  the  curtain  rises,  Meenie  and 
Gretchen  enter.  Meenie  is  a  tall  young 
woman  of  twenty-six,  and  Gretchen  is  a 
matronly  figure  with  white  hair.  They  are 
well  dressed,  and  have  every  appearance  of 
physical  and  material  prosperity. 

GRETCHEN. 
I  am  sent  to  you  by  your  father,  Meenie. 

MEENIE. 

Oh,  don't  call  him  so ;  he  is  not  my  father ! 
He  is  your  husband,  mother;  but  I  owe  him  no 
love.  And  his  cruel  treatment  of  you  — 

GRETCHEN. 

Hush,  child  !  Oh,  if  he  heard  you,  he  would 
make  me  pay  for  every  disrespectful  word  you 
utter. 


i46  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

MEENIE. 

Yes;  he  would  beat  you,  starve  and  degrade 
you.  You  are  not  his  wife,  mother,  but  his 
menial. 

GRETCHEN. 

My  spirit  is  broken,  Meenie.  I  cannot  resent 
it.  Nay,  I  deserve  it ;  for  as  Derrick  now  treats 
me,  so  I  treated  your  poor  father  when  he  was 
alive. 

MEENIE. 

You,  mother?  You,  so  gentle  ?  You,  who  are 
weakness  and  patience  itself? 

GRETCHEN. 

Yes ;  because  for  fifteen  years  I  have  been 
Derrick's  wife.  But  it  was  my  temper,  my 
cruelty,  that  drove  your  father  from  our  home 
twenty  years  ago.  You  were  too  young  then  to 
remember  him. 

MEENIE. 

No,  mother,  I  recollect  my  dear  father  taking 
me  on  his  knee,  and  saying  to  Hendrick  that  I 
should  be  his  wife ;  and  I  promised  I  would. 

GRETCHEN. 

Poor  Rip  !  Poor,  good-natured,  kind  creature 
that  he  was  !  How  gently  he  bore  with  me ;  and 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  147 

I  drove  him  like  a  dog  from  his  home.  I  hunted 
him  into  the  mountains,  where  he  perished  of 
hunger  or  cold,  or  a  prey  to  some  wild  beast. 

MEENIE. 
Don't  cry,  mother ! 

Enter  Derrick,  now  grown  old  and  bent  over 
his  cane,  and  infinitely  more  disagreeable 
than  before.  He,  too,  has  thriven,  and  is 
dressed  in  a  handsome  full  suit  of  black 
silk. 

DERRICK. 

Snivelling  again,  eh?  Teaching  that  girl  of 
yours  to  be  an  obstinate  hypocrite? 

MEENIE. 
Oh,  sir,  she  — 

DERRICK. 

Hold  your  tongue,  miss.  Speak  when  you  're 
spoken  to.  I  '11  have  you  both  to  understand  that 
there 's  but  one  master  here.  Well,  mistress, 
have  you  told  her  my  wishes ;  and  is  she  pre 
pared  to  obey  them? 

GRETCHEN. 
Indeed,  sir,  I  was  trying  to  — 

DERRICK. 

Beating  about  the  bush,  prevaricating,  and 
sneaking,  as  you  usually  do. 


148  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

MEENIE. 

If  you  have  made  her  your  slave,  you  must 
expect  her  to  cringe. 

DERRICK. 

Approaching  her  threateningly. 
What's  that? 

GRETCHEN. 

Meenie  !  Meenie  !  For  Heaven's  sake,  do  not 
anger  him ! 

DERRICK. 

Raising  his  cane. 
She  had  better  not. 

MEENIE. 

Defiantly. 

Take  care  how  you  raise  your  hand  to  me,  for 
I  '11  keep  a  strict  account  of  it.  And  when  Hen- 
drick  comes  back  from  sea,  he  '11  make  you  smart 
for  it,  I  promise  you. 

DERRICK. 
Is  the  girl  mad? 

MEEXIE. 

He  thrashed  your  nephew  once  for  being  inso 
lent  to  me.  Go  and  ask  him  how  Hendrick  pays 
my  debts  ;  and  then  when  you  speak  to  me  you  '11 
mind  your  stops. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


149 


DERRICK. 
Oh,  you  shall  pay  for  this ! 


To  Gretchen. 


GRETCHEN. 

No,  Derrick,  indeed,  indeed  I  have  not  urged 
her  to  this  !  O  Meenie,  do  not  speak  so  to  him ; 
for  my  sake  forbear  ! 

MEENIE. 

For  your  sake,  yes,  dear  mother.  I  forgot 
that  he  could  revenge  himself  on  you. 


i5o  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

DERRICK. 

As  for  your  sailor  lover,  Hendrick  Vedder, 
I  Ve  got  news  of  him  at  last.  His  ship,  the 
"  Mayflower,"  was  lost,  three  years  ago,  off  Cape 
Horn. 

MEENIE. 
No,  no.     Not  lost? 

DERRICK. 

If  you  doubt  it,  there  's  the  "  Shipping  Ga 
zette,"  in  on  my  office  table.  You  can  satisfy 
yourself  that  your  sailor  bully  has  gone  to  the 
bottom. 

GRETCHEN. 

Oh,  sir,  do  not  convey  the  news  to  her  so 
cruelly. 

DERRICK. 

That 's  it.  Because  I  don't  sneak  and  trick  and 
lie  about  it,  I  'm  cruel.  The  man  's  dead,  has 
been  dead  and  gone  these  two  years  or  more. 
The  time  of  mourning  is  over.  Am  I  going  to 
be  nice  about  it  this  time  of  day? 

MEEXIE. 
Then  all  my  hope  is  gone,  gone  forever ! 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  151 

DERRICK. 

So  much  the  better  for  you.  Hendrick's 
whole  fortune  was  invested  in  that  ship.  So 
there 's  an  end  of  him  and  your  expectations. 
Now  you  are  free,  and  a  beggar.  My  nephew 
has  a  fancy  for  you.  He  will  have  a  share  of  my 
business  now,  and  my  money  when  —  when  I 
die. 

GRETCHEN. 

Do  not  ask  her  to  decide  now ! 

DERRICK. 

Why  not?  If  she  expects  to  make  a  better 
bargain  by  holding  off,  she  's  mistaken. 

GRETCHEN. 

How  can  you  expect  her  to  think  of  a  husband 
at  this  moment? 

DERRICK. 

Don't  I  tell  you  the  other  one  is  dead  these 
two  years? 

GRETCHEN. 

Leading  Meenie  away 

Come,  my  child.  Leave  her  to  me,  sir ;  I  will 
try  and  persuade  her. 


152  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

DERRICK. 

Take  care  that  you  do  ;  for  if  she  don't  consent 
to  accept  my  offer,  she  shall  pack  bag  and  bag 
gage  out  of  this  house.  Aye,  this  very  day! 
Not  a  penny,  not  a  stitch  of  clothes  but  what 
she  has  on  her  back,  shall  she  have  !  Oh,  I  've 
had  to  deal  with  obstinate  women  before  now, 
and  I  've  taken  them  down  before  I  Ve  done 
with  them.  You  know  who  I  mean?  Do  you 
know  who  I  mean?  Stop.  Answer  me!  Do 
you  know  who  I  mean  ? 

GRETCHEN. 

Submissively. 
Yes,  sir. 

DERRICK. 

Then  why  did  n't  you  say  so  before?  Sulky, 
I  suppose.  There,  you  may  be  off. 

Exeunt. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  153 

SCENE  m. 

The  village  of  Falling  Waters,  which  has 
grown  to  be  a  smart  and  flourishing 
town,  but  whose  chief  features  remain 
unchanged. 

To  the  left,  as  of  yore,  .is  the  inn,  bearing 
scarcely  any  mark  of  the  lapse  of  time, 
save  that  the  sign  of  George  III.  has 
been  replaced  by  a  portrait  of  George 
Washington.  To  the  right,  where  Rip's 
cottage  used  to  stand,  nothing  remains, 
however,  but  the  blackened  and  crumbling 
ruins  of  a  chimney.  A  table  and  chairs 
stand  in  front  of  the  Inn  porch. 

Into  this  familiar  scene  Rip  makes  his 
entrance,  but  not  as  before,  —  in  glee,  with 
the  children  clinging  about  him.  Faint, 
weak,  and  weary  he  stumbles  along, 
followed  by  a  jeering,  hooting  mob  of 
villagers ;  while  the  children  hide  from 
him  in  fear,  behind  their  elders.  His 
eyes  look  dazed  and  uncomprehending, 
and  he  catches  at  the  back  of  a  chair 
as  if  in  need  of  physical  as  well  as  mental 
support. 

KATCHEN. 

As  Rip  enters. 

Why,   what   queer    looking   creature    is    this, 
that  all  the  boys  are  playing  — 

SETH. 

Why,   he    looks    as    though   he'd    been    dead 
for  fifty  years,  and  dug  up  again  ! 


'54 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


My  friends,  Kanst  dn  Dcittscli  sprcchcir: 


FIRST  VILLAGER. 

I  say,  old  fellow,  you  ain't  seen  anything  of 
an  old  butter-tub  with  no  kiver  on,  no  place 
about  here,  have  you? 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  155 

RIP. 

Bewildered,  but  with  simplicity. 
What  is  that?     I  don't  know  who  that  is. 

SECOND  VILLAGER. 
I  say,  old  man,  who's  your  barber? 

The  crowd  laughs,  and  goes  off  repeating, 
"  Who  's  your  barber?"  Some  of  the  chil 
dren  remain  to  stare  at  Rip ;  but  when  he 
holds  out  his  hand  to  them,  they,  too, 
run  off  frightened. 

RIP. 

Who's  my  barber;    what  dey  mean  by  dat? 

Noticing  his  beard. 

Why,  is  that  on  me?  I  didn't  see  that 
before.  My  beard  and  hair  is  so  long  and 
white — Gretchen  won't  know  me  with  that,  when 

she  gets  me  home. 

Looking  towards  the  cottage. 

Why,  the  home's  gone  away! 

Rip  becomes  more  and  more  puzzled,  like 
a  man  in  a  dream  who  sees  unfamiliar 
things  amid  familiar  surroundings,  and 
cannot  make  out  what  has  happened; 
and  as  in  a  dream  a  man  preserves  his  in 
dividuality,  so  Rip  stumbles  along  through 
his  bewilderment,  exhibiting  flashes  of  his 
old  humour,  wit,  and  native  shrewdness. 
But  with  all  this  he  never  laughs. 


156  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

SETH. 

I  say,  old  man,  had  n't  you  better  go  home 
and  get  shaved? 

RIP. 

Looking  about  for  the  voice. 
What? 

SETH. 

Here,  this  way.  Had  n't  you  better  go  home 
and  get  shaved? 

RIP, 

My  wife  will  shave  me  when  she  gets  me 
home.  Is  this  the  village  of  "  Falling  Waters," 
where  we  was? 

SETH. 
Yes. 

RlP. 

Still    more    puzzled,    not   knowing   his   face. 
Do  you  live  here? 

SETH. 
Well,  rather.     I  was  born  here. 

RlP. 

Reflectively. 
Then  you  live  here? 

SETH. 
Well,  rather;   of   course   I  do. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  157 

RIP. 

Feeling    that    he    has    hold    of    something 

certain. 
Do  you  know  where  I  live? 

SETH. 

No;    but  I  should  say  you  belong  to  Noah's 
Ark. 

RIP. 

£«ttmg  his  hand  to  his  ear. 
That  I  belong  mit  vas  ? 

SETH. 

Noah's  Ark. 

RIP. 

Very  much  hurt. 

Why  will  you  say  such  thing  like  that? 

Then,  with  a  flash  of  humour,  and  drawing 
his  beard  slowly  through  his  fingers. 

Well,  look  like  it,  don't  I? 

Beginning  all  over  again  to  feel  for  his  clue. 
My  friend,  did  you    never  hear  of   a  man   in 
this  place  whose  name  was  Rip  Van  Winkle? 

SETH. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  the  laziest,  drunken  vagabond 
in  the  country? 


158  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Somewhat  taken  aback  by  this  description, 
but  obliged  to  concur  in  it. 

Yah,  that    is    the  one ;   there   is   no   mistaking 
him,  eh? 

SETH. 
I  know  all  about  him. 

RIP. 

Hopefully 
Do  you? 

SETH. 

Yes. 

RIP. 

Quite  eagerly. 

Well,  if  you   know  all   about  him ;     well,  what 
has  become  of  him? 

SETH. 

What  has  become  of   him  ?     Why,  bless  your 
soul,  he  's  been  dead  these  twenty  years  ! 

RIP. 

Looking  at  Seth. 

Then   I    am    dead,    I    suppose.     So    Rip    Van 
Winkle  was  dead,  eh? 

SETH. 
Yes ;    and  buried. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  159 

RIP. 

Humourously. 

I'm  sorry  for  that;   for  he  was  a  good  fellow, 
so  he  was. 

SETH. 

Aside. 

There  appears  to  be  something  queer  about 
this  old  chap  ;  I  wonder  who  he  is. 

Rises,  and  taking  chair  over  to  Rip. 
There,  old  gentleman,  be  seated. 

RlP. 

Seating  himself   with  great  difficulty,  aided 

by  Seth. 

Oh,  thank  you;  every  time  I  move  a  new 
way,  I  get  another  pain.  My  friend,  where  is 
the  house  what  you  live  in? 

SETH. 

Pointing  at  inn. 
There. 

RIP. 

Did  you  live  there  yesterday? 

SETH. 
Well,  rather. 

RIP. 

No  ;   it  is  Nick  Vedder  what  live  in  that  house. 
Where  is  Nick  Vedder? 


160  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

SETH. 

Does  he?  Then  I  wish  he  'd  pay  the  rent  for 
it.  Why,  Nick  Vedder  has  been  dead  these  fif 
teen  years. 

RIP. 
Did  you  know  Jacob  Stine,  what  was  with  him? 

SETH. 

No;  but  I  'vc  heard  of  him.  He  was  one  of 
the  same  sort  as  Rip  and  Nick. 

RIP. 
Yes,  them  fellows  was  all  pretty  much  alike. 

SETH. 

Well,  he  went  off  the  hooks  a  short  time  after 
Rip. 

RIP. 
Where  has  he  gone  ? 

SETH. 

Off  the  hooks. 

RIP. 
What  is  that,  when  they  go  off  the  hooks  ? 

SETH. 
Why,  he  died. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  161 

RIP. 

With  an  air  of  hopelessness. 
Is  there  anybody  alive  here  at  all? 

Then,  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling, 
convinced  of  the  impossibility  of  what  he 
hears. 

That  man  is  drunk  what  talks  to  me. 

SETH. 
Ah,  they  were  a  jolly  set,  I  reckon. 

RIP. 
Oh,  they  was.     I  knowed  them  all. 

SETH. 
Did  you? 

RlP. 

Yes,    I   know  Jacob    Stine,    and  Nick  Vedder, 
and  Rip  Van  Winkle,  and  the  whole  of  them. 

A  new  idea  strikes  him,  and  he  beckons  to 
Seth,  whom  he  asks,  very  earnestly. 

Oh,  my  friend,  come  and  see  here.     Did  you 
know  Schneider? 

SETH. 

Schneider  !      Schneider  !     No,  I  never  heard  of 
him. 

RIP. 

Simply. 

He  was   a  dog.     I   thought  you   might    know 
him.     Well,  if  dat  is  so,  what  has  become  of  my 


1 62  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

child  Meenie,  and  my  wife  Gretchen?     Are  they 

gone,  too? 

Turning  to  look  at  the  ruins  of  the  house. 

Yah,  even  the  house  is  dead. 

SETH. 

Poor  old  chap  !  He  seems  quite  cast  down  at 
the  loss  of  his  friends.  I  '11  step  in  and  get  a 

drop  of  something  to  cheer  him  up. 

Exit. 

RIP. 

Puzzling  it  out  with  himself. 

I  can't  make  it  out  how  it  all  was ;  because  if 
this  here  is  me,  what  is  here  now,  and  Rip  Van 
Winkle  is  dead,  then  who  am  I  ?  That  is  what  I 
would  like  to  know.  Yesterday,  everybody  was 

here  ;    and  now  they  was  all  gone. 

Very  forlorn. 
Re-enter  Setli,  followed  by  the   villagers. 

SETH. 

Offering  Rip  the  cup. 

There,  old  gent,  there  's  a  drop  of  something 
to  cheer  you  up. 

RIP. 

Shaking  hands  with  Seth  and  Katchen. 
Oh,  thank  you.     I  —  I  —  I  swore  off;   but  this 
is  the  first  time  what  I  see  you.     I  won't  count 
this  one. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  163 

His  voice  breaks. 

My  friend,  you  have  been  very  kind  to  me. 
Here  is  your  good  health,  and  your  family's,  and 
may  they  all  live  long  and  prosper ! 

SETH. 
I  say,  wife,  ain't  he  a  curiosity  fit  for  a  show? 

RIP. 

Aside. 

That   gives   me   courage  to  ask   these    people 

anodder  question. 

He  begins  with  difficulty. 

My  friend,  I  don't  know  whether  you  knowed 
it  or  not,  but  there  was  a  child  of  Rip,  —  Meenie 

her  name  was. 

SETH. 

Oh,  yes  ;   that 's  all  right. 

RIP. 

With  great  emotion,  teaning  forward. 
She  is  not  gone?     She  is  not  dead?     No,  no! 

SETH. 
No.     She  's  alive. 

RIP. 

Smking  back  with  relief. 

Meenie  is  alive.  It 's  all  right  now,—  all  right 
now. 


164 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


SETH. 
She  's  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  village. 

RIP. 
I  know  dat. 

SETH. 

But  if  she  wastes  her  time  waiting  on  Hen- 
drick  Vedder,  she  '11  be  a  middle-aged  wo 
man  before  long. 

RIP. 

Incredulously. 
She  's  a  little 
child,  only  six 
^          years  old. 

SETH. 

Six  -  and  - 
twenty,  you 
mean. 

RIP. 

Thinking  they 
are  making 
fun  of  him. 

She  's  a  little  child  no  bigger  than  that.     Don't 
bodder  me ;    I  don't  like  that. 

SETH. 
Why,  she  's  as  big  as  her  mother. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  165 

RIP. 

Very  much  surprised  that  Seth  knows  Gretchen. 
What,  Gretchen? 

SETH, 
Yes,  Gretchen. 

RIP. 
Isn't  Gretchen  dead? 

SETH. 
No  ;    she  's  alive. 

RIP. 

With  mixed  emotions. 

Gretchen  is  alive,  eh  !     Gretchen  's  alive  ! 

SETH. 
Yes  ;    and  married  again, 

RIP. 

Fiercely 

How  would  she  do  such  a  thing  like  that? 

SETH. 

Why,  easy  enough.     After  Rip   died,  she  was 
a  widow,  was  n't  she? 

RIP. 

Oh,  yes.      I   forgot   about   Rip's    being  dead. 
Well,  and  then? 


1 66  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

SETH. 
Well,  then  Derrick  made  love  to  her. 

RIP. 

Surprised,  and  almost  amused. 

What  for  Derrick?     Not  Derrick  Von  Beek- 
man? 

SETH. 
Yes,  Derrick  Von  Beekman. 

RIP. 

Still  more  interested. 
Well,  and  then? 

SETH. 

Well,  then  her  affairs  went  bad ;  and  at  last  she 
married  him. 

RIP. 

Turning  it  over  in  his  mind. 
Has  Derrick  married  Gretchen? 

SETH. 

Yes. 

RIP. 

With  a  flash  of  his  old  humour,  but  still  with 
no  laughter. 

Well,  I  did  n't  think  he  would  come  to  any 
good  ;  I  never  did.  So  she  cotched  Derrick,  eh  ! 
Poor  Derrick ! 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  167 

SETH. 
Yes. 

RIP. 

Well,  here  's  their  good  health,  and  their  fam 
ily's,  and  may  they  all  live  long  and  prosper ! 

Drinks. 

SETH. 

Now,  old  gent,  had  n't  you  better  be  going 
home,  wherever  that  is? 

RIP. 

With  conviction. 

Where  my  home  was?     Here's  where  it  is. 

SETH. 

What,  here  in  this  village?  Now  do  you  think 
we  're  going  to  keep  all  the  half-witted  strays 
that  choose  to  come  along  here?  No;  be  off 
with  you.  Why,  it's  a  shame  that  those  you 
belong  to  should  allow  such  an  old  tramp  as  you 
to  float  around  here. 

VILLAGERS. 

Roughly,  and  trying  to  push  him  along. 
Yes  ;   away  with  him  ! 

RIP. 

Frightened,  and  pleading  with  them. 
Are  you  going  to  drive  me  away  into  the  hills 
again? 


1 68  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

FIRST  VILLAGER. 
Yes ;    away  with  him  !     He  's  an  old  tramp. 

Enter  Hendrick,  with  stick  and  bundle,  fol 
lowed  by  some  of  the  women  of  the  village. 

VILLAGERS. 
Away  with  him  ! 

HENDRICK. 

Throwing  down  bundle. 

Avast  there,  mates.  Where  are  you  towing 
that  old  hulk  to?  What,  you  won't? 

Pushing  crowd  aside,  and  going  forward. 
Where  are  you  towing  that  old  hulk  to? 

SETH. 
Who  are  you? 

HENDRICK. 

I  'm  a  man,  every  inch  of  me ;  and  if  you  doubt 
it,  I  '11  undertake  to  remove  the  suspicions  from 
any  two  of  you  in  five  minutes.  Ain't  you 
ashamed  of  yourselves?  Don't  you  see  the  poor 
old  creature  has  but  half  his  wits? 

SETH. 
Well,  this  is  no  asylum  for  worn  out  idiots. 

VILLAGERS. 

Coming  forward. 
No,  it  ain't! 


Ain't  it? 
No,  it  ain't. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 
H  END  RICK. 

OMNES. 


169 


HENDRICK. 

Then  I  '11  make  it  a  hospital  for  broken  heads 
if  you  stand  there  much  longer.  Clear  the  decks, 
you  lubberly  swabs  ! 

Drives  them  aside.    Turns  to  Rip,  who  stands 
bewildered. 

What  is  the  cause  of  all  this? 


RlP. 
I  don't  know;   do  you? 

HENDRICK. 
Do  any  of  you  know  him? 

FIRST  VILLAGER. 
No ;   he  appears  to  be  a  stranger. 

HENDRICK. 
You  seem  bewildered.     Can  I  help  you  ? 

RlP. 
Just  tell  me  where  I  live. 


Helplessly. 


To  villagers. 


To  Rip. 


Feebly. 


170  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

HENDRICK. 
And  don't  you  know? 

RIP. 
No,  I  don't. 

HENDRICK. 
Why,  what's  your  name? 

RIP. 

Almost  childishly. 

I  don't  know;  but  I  believe  I  know  vat  it  used 
to  be.  My  name,  it  used  to  be  Rip  Van  Winkle. 

VILLAGERS. 

In  astonishment. 
Rip  Van  Winkle  ? 

HENDRICK. 
Rip  Van  Winkle?     Impossible! 

RIP. 

Pathetically  feeble,  and  old. 

Well,  I  would  n't  swear  to  it  myself.  I  tell 
you  how  it  was :  Last  night,  I  don't  know  about 
the  time,  I  went  away  up  into  the  mountains, 
and  while  I  was  there  I  meet  a  queer  kind  o'  man, 
and  we  got  drinkin' ;  and  I  guess  I  got  pretty 
drunk.  And  then  I  went  to  sleep ;  and  when  I 

woke  up  this  morning,  I  was  dead. 

All  laugh. 


No  one  remembers  Rip  Van  Winkle':' 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  171 

HENDRICK. 

Poor  old  fellow ;  he  's  crazy.  Rip  Van  Winkle 
has  been  dead  these  twenty  years.  I  knew  him 
when  I  was  a  child. 

RIP. 

Clutching  at  a  faint  hope. 
You  don't  know  me? 

HENDRICK. 

No ;    nor  anybody  else  here,  it  seems. 

The  villagers,  finding  that  there  is  to  be  no 
amusement  for  them,  straggle  off  to  their 
occupations. 

SETH. 

As  he  goes  into  the  inn. 
Why,  wife,  he  's  as  cracked  as  our  old  teapot. 

RIP. 

With  simple  pathos. 

Are  we  so  soon  forgot  when  we  are  gone? 
No  one  remembers  Rip  Van  Winkle. 

HENDRICK. 

Come,  cheer  up,  my  old  hearty,  and  you  shall 
share  my  breakfast. 

Assists    Rip   to  sit   at   the  table.     Rip  has 

fallen  into  a  dream  again. 

To  Katchen. 

Bring  us  enough  for  three,  and  of  your  best. 


1 72  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

KATCHEN. 
That  I  will. 

Exit  into  inn. 

HENDRICK. 

So  here  I  am,  home  again.     And  yonder  's  the 
very  spot  where,  five  years   ago,  I   parted  from 

Meenie. 

RIP. 

Roused  by  the  name. 
What,  Meenie  Van  Winkle? 

HENDRICK. 
And  she  promised  to  remain  true  to  Hendrick 

Vedder. 

RIP. 

Oh,  yah ;  that  was  Nick  Vedder's  son. 
HENDRICK. 

Turning  to  Rip. 
That 's  me. 

RIP. 

Resentfully. 

That  was  you  !     You  think  I  'm  a  fool?     He  's 
a  little   child,  no  bigger  than  that, — the  one   I 

mean. 

HENDRICK. 

How  mad  he  is  ! 

Enter  Katchen  from  inn  with  tray,  on  which 
is  laid  a  breakfast.  She  puts  it  on  table, 
and  exits  into  inn. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  173 

There,  that 's  right.  Stow  your  old  locker  full 
while  I  take  a  cruise  around  yonder  house,  where, 
five  years  ago,  I  left  the  dearest  bit  of  human 
nature  that  was  ever  put  together.  I  '11  be  back 
directly. 

Who  comes  here?  It 's  surely  Derrick  and  his 
wife.  Egad,  I  'm  in  luck;  for  now  the  old  birds 
are  out,  Meenie  will  surely  be  alone.  I  '11  take 
advantage  of  the  coast  being  clear,  and  steer  into 
harbour  alongside. 

Exit.     Enter  Derrick,  followed  by  Gretchen. 

DERRICK. 
So  you   have   come  to   that  conclusion,    have 

you? 

GRETCHEN. 

I  cannot  accept  this  sacrifice. 

RIP. 

Starting    from    his    reverie,    and   turning   to 

look  at  her. 
Why,  that   is  Gretchen's  voice. 

As    he   recognises    her.  and   sees   how   aged 

she  is. 
My,  my !     Is  that  my  wife  ? 

DERRICK. 

Oh,  you  can't  accept !  Won't  you  kindly  allow 
me  a  word  on  the  subject? 


i74  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Aside,  humourously. 

No,  indeed,  she  will  not.  Now,  my  friend,  you 
are  going  to  cotch  it. 

GRETCHEN. 

There  is  a  limit  even  to  my  patience.  Don't 
drive  me  to  it. 

RIP. 

Aside,  drolly. 

Take  care,  my  friend,  take  care. 

DERRICK. 

Look  you,  woman;  Meenie  has  consented  to 
marry  my  nephew.  She  has  pledged  her  word 
to  do  so  on  condition  that  I  settle  an  annuity 

on  you. 

GRETCHEN. 

I  won't  allow  my  child  to  break  her  heart. 

DERRICK. 

You  won't  allow?  Dare  to  raise  your  voice, 
dare  but  to  speak  except  as  I  command  you, 
you  shall  repent  it  to  the  last  hour  of  your 

life. 

RIP. 

Expectantly, 

Now  she  '11  knock  him  down,  flat  as  a  flounder. 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE.  175 

DERRICK. 

Sneeringly. 

You  won't  allow?  This  is  something  new. 
Who  are  you ;  do  you  think  you  are  dealing, 
with  your  first  husband? 

GRETCHEN. 
Alas,  no  ;   I  wish  I  was. 

RIP. 

Lost  in  wonderment. 

My,  my,  if  Rip  was  alive,  he  never  would 
have  believed  it ! 

DERRICK. 

So  you  thought  to  get  the  upper  hand  of  me,, 
when  you  married  me;  didn't  you? 

GRETCHEN. 

I  thought  to  get  a  home  for  my  little  girl  — 
shelter,  and  food ;  want  drove  me  to  your  door, 
and  I  married  you  for  a  meal's  victuals  for  my 

sick  child. 

DERRICK. 

So  you  came  to  me  as  if  I  was  a  poor-house,, 
eh?  Then  you  can't  complain  of  the  treat 
ment  you  received.  You  sacrificed  yourself  for 


176 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


Meenic ;  and  the  least  she  can  do  now,  is  to  do 
the  same  for  you.  In  an  hour,  the  deeds  will  be 
ready.  Now,  just  you  take  care  that  no  insolent 
interference  of  yours  spoils  my  plans ;  do  you 
hear? 

GRETCHEX. 
Yes,  sir. 


DERRICK. 
Why    can't     you 
be  kind    and   affec 
tionate  to  her,  as  I 
am  to  you.     There, 

go  and  blubber  over  her;  that's  your  way.     You 
are  always  pretending  to  be  miserable. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  177 

GRETCHEX. 

Alas,  no,  sir !  I  am  always  pretending  to  be 
happy. 

DERRICK. 

Don't  cry.  I  won't  have  it;  come  now,  none 
of  that.  If  you  come  home  to-day  with  red 
eyes,  and  streaky  cheeks,  I  '11  give  you  some 
thing  to  cry  for;  now  you  know  what's  for 

supper. 

Exit. 

RIP. 

Still  amazed. 

Well,  if  I  had  n't  seen  it,  I  never  would  have 
believed  it ! 

GRETCHEN. 

Absorbed  in  her  grief. 

Oh,  wretch  that  I  am,  I  must  consent,  or  that 
man  will  surely  thrust  her  out  of  doors  to  starve, 

to  beg,  and  to  become  — 

Seeing  Rip. 

Yes,  to  become  a  thing  of  rags  and  misery, 
like  that  poor  soul. 

RIP. 

She  always  drived  the  beggars  away;  I  sup 
pose  I  must  go. 

Getting  up,  and  starting  to  go. 


178  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

GRETCHEN. 

Taking  penny  from  her  pocket. 

Here,  my  poor  man,  take  this.     It  is  only  a 

penny ;     but   take   it,   and    may  God  bless  you, 

poor   wanderer,   so    old,  so    helpless.     Why   clo 

you    come    to    this    strange    place,    so    far    from 

home? 

RIP. 

Keeping   his   face   turned    away    from    her. 
She1  don't  know  me ;    she  don't  know  me  ! 

GRETCHEN. 
Are  you  alone  in  the  world? 

RIP. 

Trying  to  bring  himself  to  look  directly  at 
Gretchen. 

My  wife  asks  me  if  I  'm  alone. 

GRETCHEN. 

Come  with  me.  How  feeble  he  is;  there,. lean 
on  me.  Come  to  yonder  house,  and  there  you 
shall  rest  your  limbs  by  the  fire. 

Gretchen  takes  his  arm,  and  puts  it  in  her 
own.  As  they  move  towards  her  house, 
Rip  stops,  and,  with  an  effort,  turns  and 
looks  her  full  in  the  face,  with  a  penetrat 
ing  gaze,  as  if  imploring  recognition,  but 
there  is  none;  and,  sadly  shaking  his  head, 
he  shrinks  into  himself,  and  allows  her  to 
lead  him  tottering  off. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  179 

SCENE  iv. 

The    same   room   in   Derrick's    home   as   in 
Scene  II. 

Enter  Derrick. 

DERRICK. 

I  don't  know  what  women  were  invented  for, 
except  to  make  a  man's  life  miserable.  I  can  get 
a  useful,  hard-working  woman  to  keep  my  house 
clean,  and  order  my  dinner  for  me,  for  half  that 
weak  snivelling  creature  costs  me. 

Enter  Cockles. 

COCKLES. 
Well,  uncle,  what  news;   will  she  have  me? 

DERRICK. 
Leave  it  to  me ;    she  must,  she  shall. 

COCKLES. 

If  she  holds  out,  what  are  we  to  do?  It  was 
all  very  well,  you  marrying  Rip's  widow,  that 
choked  off  all  inquiry  into  his  affairs ;  but  here  's 
Meenie,  Rip's  heiress,  who  rightly  owns  all  this 
property;  if  we  don't  secure  her,  we're  not 
safe. 

DERRICK. 

You  Ve  got  rid  of  Hendrick  Vedder ;  that 's 
one  obstacle  removed. 


i So  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

COCKLES. 

I'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  His  ship  was 
wrecked  on  a  lonely  coast ;  but  some  of  the 
crew  may  have,  unfortunately,  been  saved. 

DERRICK. 

If  he  turns  up  after  you're  married,  what 
need  you  care? 

COCKLES. 

I'd  like  nothing  better;  I'd  like  to  see  his 
face  when  he  saw  my  arm  around  his  sweet 
heart —  my  wife.  But  if  he  turns  up  before 
our  marriage  — 

DERRICK. 
I   must  put  the  screw  on  somewhere. 

COCKLES. 

I'll  tell  you,  Meenie  will  do  anything  for  her 
mother's  sake.  Now  you  are  always  threatening 
to  turn  her  out,  as  she  turned  out  Rip.  That 's 
the  tender  place.  Meenie  fears  more  for  her 
mother,  than  she  cares  for  herself. 

DERRICK. 
Well,  what  am  I  to  do? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  181 

COCKLES. 

Make  Gretchen  independent  of  you ;  settle 
the  little  fortune  on  her,  that  you  are  always 
talking  about  doing,  but  never  keeping  your 
word.  The  girl  will  sell  herself  to  secure  her 
mother's  happiness. 

DERRICK. 

And  it  would  be  a  cheap  riddance  for  me.  I 
was  just  talking  about  it  to  Gretchen  this  morn 
ing.  You  shall  have  the  girl ;  but  I  hope  you 
are  not  going  to  marry  her  out  of  any  weak 
feeling  of  love.  You  're  not  going  to  let  her 
make  a  fool  of  you  by  and  by? 

COCKLES. 

I  never  cared  for  her  until  she  was  impudent 
to  me,  and  got  that  sailor  lover  of  hers  to 
thrash  me ;  and  then  I  began  to  feel  a  hunger 
for  her  I  never  felt  before. 

DERRICK. 
That's  just  the  way  I  felt  for  Gretchen. 

COCKLES. 

T  ain't  revenge  that  I  feel ;  it 's  enterprise.  I 
want  to  overcome  a  difficulty. 


182 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 
DERRICK. 


Chuckling. 

And    so    you    shall.     Come,    we  '11    put   your 
scheme  in  train  at  once;   and  let  this  be  a  warn 


ing  to  you  hereafter,  never  marry  another  man's 
widow. 

COCKLES. 
No,  uncle;    I'll  take  a  leaf  out  of  your  book, 

and  let  it  be  a  warning  to  her. 

Exeunt. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  183 

SCENE  v. 

A  plain  sitting-room  in  Derrick's  house.  A 
table  stands  in  the  centre  with  several 
chairs  around  it.  There  are  cups,  a  jug, 
and  a  work-basket  on  the  table.  As  the 
curtain  rises,  Meenie  is  discovered  seated 
by  the  table. 

MEENIE. 

Why  should  I  repine?  Did  my  mother  hesi 
tate  to  sacrifice  her  life  to  make  a  home  for  me? 
No;  these  tears  are  ungrateful,  selfish. 

The  door  at  the  back  opens,  and  Gretchen 
enters,  leading  Rip,  who  seems  very  feeble 
and  a  little  wild. 

GRETCHEN. 
Come  in  and  rest  awhile. 

RIP. 
This  your  house,  your  home? 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes.     Meenie,  Meenie,  bring  him  a  chair. 

RIP. 

Turning  aside  so  as  to  shield  his  face  from 
Meenie. 

Is  that  your  daughter? 


i84  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

GRETCHEX. 
That  is  my  daughter. 

RIP. 

Looking  timidly  at  Meenie,  as  Gretchea 
helps  him  into  a  chair. 

I  thought  you  was  a  child. 
GRETCHEX. 

Crossing  to  go  into  another  room,  and 
speaking  to  Meenie,  who  starts  to  follow 
her. 

Stay  with  him  until  I  get  some  food  to  fill  his 
wallet.  Don't  be  frightened,  child,  he  is  only 
a  simple,  half-witted  creature  whose  misery  has 
touched  my  heart. 

Exit.  Meenie  takes  her  work-basket,  and 
starts  to  follow. 

RIP. 

Holding  out  his  hand  to  detain  her,  and 
speaking  with  hardly  suppressed  excite 
ment. 

One  moment,  my  dear.     Come  here,  and  let 

me  look  at  you. 

Pathetically. 

Are  you  afraid?  I  won't  hurt  you.  I  only 
want  to  look  at  you ;  that  is  all.  Won't  you 
come? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  185 

Meenie  puts  down  her  work-basket;  and  Rip 
is  relieved  of  his  great  fear  that  she  might 
leave  him.  His  excitement  increases  as 
he  goes  on  in  his  struggle  to  make  her 
recognise  him. 

Yes ;   I  thought  you  would.     Oh,  yah,  that  is 

Meenie  !     But  you  are  grown  ! 

Meenie  smiles. 


But  see  the  smile  and  the  eyes!  That  is  just 
the  same  Meenie.  You  are  a  woman,  Meenie. 
Do  you  remember  something  of  your  father? 


1 86  RIP    VAN    WINKLE. 

He  looks  at  her  eagerly  and  anxiously,  as  if 
on  her  answer  hung  his  reason  and  his 
life. 

MEENIE. 

I  do.     I  do.     Oh,  I  wish  he  was  here  now ! 

RIP. 

HaH  rising  in  his  chair,  in  his  excitement. 
Yah?     But  he  is  n't?     No?     No? 

MEENIE. 

No;   he  's  dead.    I  remember  him  so  well.    No 
one  ever  loved  him  as  I  did. 

RIP. 

No ;    nobody  ever  loved  me  like  my  child. 

MEENIE. 

Never  shall  I  forget  his  dear,  good  face.     Tell 
me  — 

RlP. 

Eagerly  and  expectantly. 
Yah?  — 

MEENIE. 
Did  you  know  him? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  187 

RIP. 

Confused  by  her  question,  and  afraid  to 
answer. 

Well— I  thought  I  did.  But  I  -  When  I 
say  that  here,  in  the  village,  the  people  all  laugh 
at  me. 

MEENIE. 

He  is  wandering. 

She  starts  to  go. 

RIP. 

Making  a  great  effort  of  will,  and  resolved 
to  put  the  question  of  his  identity  to  the 
test. 

Don't  go  away  from  me.  I  want  you  to  look 
at  me  now,  and  tell  me  if  you  have  ever  seen  me 
before. 

MEENIE. 

Surprised. 
No. 

RIP. 

Holding  out  his  arms  to  her. 
Try,  my  darlin,'  won't  you? 

MEENIE. 

Frightened. 

What  do  you  mean?  Why  do  you  gaze  so 
earnestly  and  fondly  on  me? 


1 88  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Rising  from  his  chair,  in  trembling  excite 
ment,  and  approaching  her. 

I  am  afraid  to  tell  you,  my  dear,  because  if 
you  say  it  is  not  true,  it  may  be  it  would  break 
my  heart  But,  Meenie,  either  I  dream,  or  I  am 
mad;  but  I  am  your  father. 

MEENIE. 
My  father ! 

RIP. 
Yes ;  but  hear  me,  my  dear,  and  then  you  will 

know. 

Trying  to  be  logical  and  calm,  but  labouring 
under  great  excitement. 

This  village  here  is  the  village  of  Falling 
Waters.  Well,  that  was  my  home.  I  had  here 
in  this  place  my  wife  Gretchen,  and  my  child 
Meenie  —  little  Meenie  - 

A  long  pause,  during  which  he  strives  to 
re-assemble  his  ideas  and  memories  more 
accurately. 

and   my  dog  Schneider.      That 's  all  the  family 
what   I  Ve  got.      Try  and   remember   me,   dear, 

won't  you? 

Pleadingly. 

I  don't  know  when  it  was  —  This  night  there 
was  a  storm ;  and  my  wife  drived  me  from  my 


!Ab,  my  child!  Somebody  knoics  me  now! 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  189 

house;  and  I  went  away  —  I  don't  remember  any 
more  till  I  come  back  here  now.  And  see,  I  get 
back  now,  and  my  wife  is  gone,  and  my  home  is 
gone.  My  home  is  gone,  and  my  child  —  my 
child  looks  in  my  face,  and  don't  know  who  I 

am  ! 

MEENIE. 

Rushing  into  his  arms. 
I  do  !     Father  ! 

RIP. 

Sobbing. 

Ah,  my  child !  Somebody  knows  me  now ! 
Somebody  knows  me  now ! 

MEENIE. 
But  can  it  be  possible? 

RIP. 

Oh,  yah ;  it  is  so,  Meenie  ! 

With   a  pathetic   return  of   his   uncertainty. 
Don't  say  it  is  not,  or  you  will  kill  me  if  you 

do. 

MEENIE. 

No.  One  by  one  your  features  come  back  to 
my  memory.  Your  voice  recalls  that  of  my 
dear  father,  too.  I  cannot  doubt;  yet  it  is  so 

strange. 

RIP. 

Yah,  but  it  is  me,  Meenie ;   it  is  me. 


1 9o  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

MEENIE. 
I   am  bewildered.       Surely  mother  will  know 

you. 

RIP. 

Smiling. 
No,  I  don't  believe  she  '11  know  me. 

MEENIE. 
She   can  best  prove  your  identity.     I  will  call 

her. 

RIP. 

No.  You  call  the  dog  Schneider.  He  '11 
know  me  better  than  my  wife. 

They   retire   to  a   sofa   in   the   background r 
where    Rip    sits    with     his    arm    around 

Meenie. 1 

Enter  Derrick,  with  documents. 

1  In  reply  to  a  question,  why  Rip  should  sit  with  his  arm 
around  Meenie,  during  the  next  scene,  when  the  other  persons 
in  the  drama  are  present,  and  are  still  ignorant  of  his  identity, 
Mr.  Jefferson  said:  "The  other  persons  are  occupied  with 
their  own  affairs,  and  are  not  supposed  to  see  this.  It  is 
natural  that  Rip  should  embrace  his  daughter  whom  he  has 
just  found ;  but  the  others  are  not  supposed  to  see  it.  It  is 
like  a  side  speech  on  the  stage.  I  went  to  a  Chinese  theatre 
once,  and  after  the  Chinese  lady  got  through  with  her  song, 
they  brought  her  a  glass  of  gin ;  she  turned  her  back  to  the 
audience,  and  drank  it,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  That 's  not  in  the 
play.'  We  are  dealing  with  the  impossible  all  the  time  on  the 
stage ;  and  we  have  got  to  make  it  appear  possible.  Dramati 
cally,  things  may  often  be  right,  when,  realistically,  they  are 
wrong.  What  we  do  is  often  the  result  of  averaging  the 
thing,  determining  how  far  good  taste  will  admit  of  an  error, 
you  see;  like  the  discord  in  music,  —  not  good  in  itself,  but 
good  in  its  place." 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  191 

DERRICK. 

What  old  vagabond  is  this  ? 

Meenie  starts  to  resent  insult. 

RIP. 
Don't  you  say  a  word. 

DERRICK. 

Here,  give  him  a  cold  potato,  and  let  him  go. 
To  Gretchen,  who  has  entered,  followed  by 
Cockles.     Gretchen    seats   herself    in   the 
chair  at  the  right  of   the  table. 

Come  you  here,  mistress.     Here  are  the  papers 
for  the  young  couple  to  sign. 

COCKLES. 

Aside. 

And    the    sooner    the    better.     Hush,    uncle. 
Hendrick  is   here. 

DERRICK. 

Young  Vedder?     Then  we  must  look  sharp. 

To  Gretchen. 

Come,  fetch   that    girl    of  yours    to   sign    this 
deed. 

GRETCHEN. 

Never  shall   she   put  her  name  to  that  paper 
with  my  consent.     Never. 


192  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

DERRICK. 

Dare  you  oppose  me  in  my  own  house?  Dare 
you  preach  disobedience  under  my  roof? 

GRETCHEN. 

I  dare  do  anything  when  my  child's  life  's  at 
stake.  No,  a  thousand  times,  no  !  You  shall  not 
make  of  her  what  you  have  of  me.  Starvation 
and  death  are  better  than  such  a  life  as  I  lead. 

DERRICK. 

Raising  cane. 
Don't  provoke  me. 

GRETCHEX. 

Kneeling. 
Beat  me,   starve   me.     You  can  only  kill   me. 

After  all,  I  deserve  it. 

Rising. 

But  Meenie  has  given  her  promise  to  Hendrick 
Vedder,  and  she  shall  not  break  her  \vord. 

COCKLES. 

Seated  at  right  of  table. 
But  Hendrick  Vedder  is  dead. 

The  door  is  flung  open,  and  Hendrick  enters. 

HEXDRICK. 
That 's  a  lie  !     He  's  alive  ! 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  193 

GRETCHEN  AND  MEENIE. 

Rushing  to  him. 
Alive ! 

HENDRICK. 

To  Meenie. 
I  Ve    heard    all    about   it.      They   made   you 

believe  that  I  was  dead. 

To  Derrick. 
Only  wait  till  I  get  through  here. 

Embracing  Meenie. 

What  a  pleasure  I  Ve  got  to  come ! 

To  Derrick. 

And  what   a  thrashing   I  Ve  brought  back  for 
you  two  swabs. 

DERRICK. 

Angrily. 

Am  I  to  be   bullied  under  my  own   roof  by  a 
beggarly  sailor?     Quit  my  house,  all  of  you. 

Seizes   Gretchen,  and  drags  her  away  from 
the  crowd. 

As  for  you,  woman,  this  is  your  work,  and  I  '11 
make  you  pay  for  it. 

GRETCHEN. 
Hendrick,  save  me  from  him.     He  will  kill  me. 

HENDRICK. 

Stand  off! 

13 


i94  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

DERRICK. 

Raising  cane. 
No  ;    she  is  my.  wife,  mine. 

GRETCHEN. 
Heaven  help  me,  I  am ! 

Rip  has  risen  from  the  sofa,  and  come  for 
ward,  and  leans  against  the  centre  of  the 
table,  with  one  hand  in  his  game-bag.  He 
is  fully  awake  now,  and  has  recovered  all 
his  old  shrewdness. 

RIP. 

Stop.  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that.  If  that  is 
so,  then  what  has  become  of  Rip  Van  Winkle? 

COCKLES. 
He  's  dead. 

RIP. 

That 's  another  lie.  He  's  no  more  dead  than 
Hendrick  Vedder.  Derrick  Von  Beekman,  you 
say  this  house  and  land  was  yours? 

DERRICK. 
Yes. 

RIP. 

Where  and  what  is  the  paper  what  you  wanted 
Rip  Van  Winkle  to  sign  when  he  was  drunk,  but 
sober  enough  not  to  do  it? 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  195 

Taking  an  old  paper  out  of  game-bag,  and 
turning  to  Hendrick. 

Have  you  forgot  how  to  read? 

HENDRICK. 

No. 

RIP. 
Then  you  read  that. 

Herrdrick  takes  the  document  from  Rip,  and 
looks  it  over. 

DERRICK. 

What  does  this  mad  old  vagabond  mean  to 
say? 

RIP. 
I  mean,  that  is  my  wife,  Gretchen  Van  Winkle. 

GRETCHEN. 

Rushing  to  Rip. 
Rip !      Rip ! 

COCKLES. 

I  say,  uncle,  are  you  going  to  stand  that?  That 
old  impostor  is  going  it  under  your  nose  in  fine 
style. 

DERRICK. 
I  'in  dumb  with  rage. 

To  the  villagers,  who  have  come  crowding  in. 
Out  of  my  house,   all   of  you  !     Begone,   you 
old  tramp  ! 


196  RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 

HENDRICK. 

Stay  where  you  are. 

To  Derrick. 

This  house  don't  belong  to  you.  Not  an  acre 
of  land,  not  a  brick  in  the  town  is  yours.  They 
have  never  ceased  to  belong  to  Rip  Van  Winkle ; 
and  this  document  proves  it 

DERRICK. 
JT  is  false.     That  paper  is  a  forgery. 

HENDRICK. 

Oh,  no,  it  is  not;  for  I  read  it  to  Rip  twenty 
years  ago. 

RIP. 

Clever  boy !  Clever  boy  !  Dat  's  the  reason  I 
did  n't  sign  it  then,  Derrick. 

DERRICK. 

Approaching  Hendrick. 

And  do  you  think  I  'm  fool  enough  to  give  up 
my  property  in  this  way? 

HENDRICK. 

No.  You  're  fool  enough  to  hang  on  to  it, 
until  we  make  you  refund  to  Rip  every  shilling 
over  and  above  the  paltry  sum  you  loaned  him 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  197 

upon  it.  Now,  if  you  are  wise,  you  '11  take  a  hint. 
There  's  the  door.  Go  !  And  never  let  us  see 
your  face  again. 

RIP. 

Yah ;   give  him  a  cold  potato,  and  let  him  go. 

Exit  Derrick  in  a  great  rage.  All  the  vil 
lagers  laugh  at  him.  Hendrick  follows 
him  to  the  door. 

COCKLES. 

Kneeliag  by  Meenie. 

0  Meenie  !     Meenie  ! 

HENDRICK. 

Coming  down,  and  taking  him  by  ear. 

1  '11  Meenie  you  ! 

Takes  him  and  pushes  him  out.  All  the 
villagers  laugh.  Meenie  gives  Rip  a  chair. 

GRETCHEN. 

Kneeling  by  the  side  of  Rip. 

O  Rip  !  I  drove  you  from  your  home ;  but 
do  not  desert  me  again.  I  '11  never  speak  an 
unkind  word  to  you,  and  you  shall  never  see  a 
frown  on  my  face.  And  Rip  — 

RIP. 

Yah. 


198  RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

GRETCHEN. 
You  may  stay  out  all  night,  if  you  like. 

RIP. 

Leaning  back  in  his  chair. 
No,  thank  you.     I  had  enough  of  that. 

GRETCHEN. 
And,  Rip,  you   can  get  tight  as  often  as  you 

please. 

Taking   bottle,  and   filling  the  cup  from  it. 

RIP. 
No  ;    I  don't  touch  another  drop. 

MEENIE. 

Kneeling  by  the  other  side  of  Rip. 
Oh,  yes,  you  will,  father.     For  see,  here  are  all 
the  neighbours  come  to  welcome  you  home. 

Gretchen  offers  Rip  the  cup. 

RIP. 

With  all  his  old  kindliness  and  hospitality. 
Well,  bring  in  all  the  children,  and  the  neigh 
bours,  and  the  dogs,  and  — 

Seeing  the  cup  which  Gretchen   is   offering 

to-  him. 

I   swore  off,  you  know.     Well,  I  won't  count 
this   one ;    for  this  will  go  down  with  a  prayer. 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE.  199 

I  will  take  my  cup  and  pipe,  and  tell  my 
strange  story  to  all  my  friends.  Here  is  my 
child  Meenie,  and  my  wife  Gretchen,  and  my  boy 
Hendrick.  I  '11  drink  all  your  good  health,  and 
I  '11  drink  your  good  health,  and  your  families', 
and  may  they  all  live  long  and  prosper ! 


[CURTAIN.] 


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